


A Wolf And A Lioness

by Flatfootmonster



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: F/M, Fanart, Love, Other, Prince Even, Princess Issie, Regency Romance, Sex, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flatfootmonster/pseuds/Flatfootmonster
Summary: Prince Even is in line to the throne, and a desperate search is underway to find a suitor. But this life really never was for him...... and then he meets a beautiful Princess who gives him the courage to live the life he wishes to, and find the love he is deserving of.(AKA sickly-sweet-regency-type-kinda-smooshy-feelsy-nothing-really-hurts-type-thingy)





	1. Little Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thank you for all those that organised this event. Secondly, thank you to the readers who will hopefully enjoy everything the writers and artists have to offer <3
> 
> This gorgeous art is by [Nevhada, please check her wonderful art out here](https://www.instagram.com/nevhada/?hl=en)
> 
> Thank you to my betas, [Lady Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Darkness/pseuds/Lady_Darkness) and [Cami Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cami_soul/pseuds/cami_soul). Without you I would be a mess right now <3 (read: more of a mess)
> 
> Lastly, to you wonderful readers, I approach a topic that I want to see more representation of (trans-women, and in this case non op), despite not actually being a trans woman. If you notice anything that feels wrong to you, please just let me know. All the research in the world is nothing against the actual experience. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy <3

### Little Wolves

“And the small, white wolf followed his own footsteps back to his cave, having sated his curiosity and learned a valuable lesson on why wolves stay in packs,” Even whispered the words, the air that left his mouth stirred the golden curls on the crown of the baby’s head as he nestled against Even’s chest. He always hesitated on this part of the story, especially when another sharp pair of ears was listening. But Birk was soundly asleep now. “And he tiptoed into the cave, finding the belly of his sleeping mother warm and safe, the little wolf fell into a deep slumber, dreaming of all the terrors he’d conquered alone in the night.”

It was a silly story, one where a young and brave wolfling faces the world on his own. Twigs and mice become giants and snakes in the dark, before he makes it home from those imagined terrors by the fur of its tail. The children loved it. Even had loved it as a child, too.

He sat still for a moment longer, quietly observing the babe, soundly asleep as the wolf in the story. And, just like a child, his silk and precious clothing were soiled with rich foods from the feast they’d all had to endure. It seemed Birk was a fan of chocolate mousse—but who wasn’t?

Nephew aside, Birk was the miniature version of Even, from the blond curls and blue wide eyes all the way to his long toes. A quiet and content child, often simply observing the world; a quiet intelligence—one Even understood. His sister on the other hand…

As if the thought alone summoned her, Even felt a tug on his shirt sleeve. “Uncle,” she whispered. Well, Ylva tried her hardest to whisper, at best it was a slurred statement to a small council… at the end of a very long table. “He’s sleeping now, can we—”

“I need to settle him first,” he replied in soft tones, trying to give her a reprimanding look, but it melted entirely on her grin.

Ylva was Even's sister reincarnate in both mannerism and physicality; this gave him immense comfort in the loss of his sibling. Dark curls fell around her shoulders, they bounced and flowed like waves when she laughed and spoke in an animated manner—which was most of the time. Her eyes were golden, they shone—whether it be night or day—to betray a cunning and daring intellect. She could cut from entertaining a room with a tall tale to commanding those same bystanders in what would be the best move in case of an emergency. A true born leader, and proving it at every turn, at the tender age of eight and three quarters, Even surmised, as he did almost every day of his life.

And every time that notion was realised, sadness crept over him for what would have been—what _should_ have been—for her.

Ylva put one very firm and dainty hand on her hip, golden bracelet dangling from her wrist as she studied her uncle. “Well, he’s asleep now. What are you waiting for?”

Even tried to hold his mirth back but it was hard in the face of such common sense retained in a child that barely made it past his belly button. “As you wish, my darling, sweet, _sweet_ , niece,” he let his lips curve into a grin and she nodded in a perfunctory manner, her curls bobbing.

“Good,” she sniffed. Even had his back to her but he just knew her tiny chin was tilted up; she had the ability to make it feel as though she were taller than you by a few hands with that gesture—it was an impossible feat but she managed it. It would be haughty if those smarting gestures weren’t chased by laughter as golden as her eyes and a smile that would melt the coldest heart.

Moving towards the small bed set aside for the prince in his arms, Ylva dashed to his side to pull back his light coverlets allowing Even to settle the babe comfortably. He thought of him as a babe still, but he was past two already. That was besides the point, for Even in any case, they would both always be babes in his eyes and he was fiercely protective of the two children.

Birk snuggled into his pillow, a content snore rumbling from his tiny, perfect nose, and his big sister tucked the covers over him with careful fingers that could both sow and handle a bow and arrow with competence.

_His wolves._

“Did you want to play hide and seek?” Even asked, taking off the monstrous circlet of gold he had to wear on his head for the ball they’d managed to escape. The crown was a weighty thing in more ways than one. He fingered it for a moment, watching Ylva place a soft kiss to her brother’s curls, before tossing it down on a velvet covered chair. He shed his heavy dress coat, dropping it on top of the thing. There; now it was out of sight, let it be out of mind too.

“I don’t think Grandfather will be pleased if we go hiding around the place now, what with all the guests,” she said, matter of factly. Pursing her lips, she pulled a thoughtful expression. “Besides, if they see you, they will only pull you around again,” she sighed, seemingly fatigued on her uncle’s behalf.

Even nodded. “What did you want to do, Little Wolf?”

“Can we just sit on the balcony?”

Frowning, Even looked out of the open doors of the children's suite. They had the third best room in the hold, one up from Even— he’d insisted on it, despite Duke Valtersen’s displeasure at that fact. Duchess Valtersen hadn’t stopped wringing her hands over the fact, as if they were host to a great scandal.

Their balcony was vast, and they took their meals out there when they were not required to be at one or other of the formal affairs. They had only been here three days and all of them were exhausted by the pomp of it all. Their space up here was a home away from home. Still, it was only one more day until they would be in their carriages, heading back to their real home.

“Of course,” he said, smiling at her. She nodded again and led the way, sitting elegantly in one of the padded seats and smoothing her skirts. Even had seen her more often than not in torn skirts, hitched to her waist as she’d had some wild adventure on a shaggy pony, head to toe in mud. But it seemed, from somewhere, she had gleaned the habits of a lady too.

As soon as his backside had touched the seat, she turned to him in a business like manner. Even repressed the urge to roll his eyes; lectures from Ylva were rarely short.

“Do you like any of them?” She asked pointedly.

Even snorted on a surprised laugh, although he wasn’t sure why he was shocked at her bluntness any more. “They are all… _nice_.” He shrugged. “I don’t know…” he added weakly, trailing off because he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. It was a strange topic to cross with his little niece, but she was quickly becoming a woman.

“I don’t,” she stated, looking out across the rose garden that spread beneath their balcony, it was in full bloom as it was the height of summer. She looked entirely fed up with the whole affair, he could quite relate.

His father had given him time to find a suitable partner since his sister, and the rightful heir, had died whilst in labour with Birk. But there was nothing natural about someone watching your every interaction, and weighing up the suitability of that individual. The King had lost his patience, and Even could quite understand. Even was next in line, there needed to be heirs for his father to be able to sleep at night—this was the sermon Even heard almost daily.

He’d never wanted this, never assumed it would fall to him. And with Ylva so very much capable, it just seemed an unfair twist of fate. But duty was duty; their Kingdom had long let the succession fall to the next sibling in line if there were no children, or the children weren’t of age. And with his father’s patience all out of stock, these overcrowded and pompous events had been procured. The purpose was of these balls were well known; a future Queen was needed. Thus followed the inevitable preening, giggling, skirt twirling and altogether vapid behaviour that was tormenting both Even and his little niece.

Birk, however, was in his element, being cooed and awed at in every single waking moment. It must be quite exhausting, Even imagined.

“Not even one?” Even probed, nudging Ylva with an elbow. But her nose wrinkled, as if there was something unpleasant below them and not row after row of colourful flowers.

“I like the cook. She makes those pastries, with the cream and chocolate?” She turned to him, eyes now eager at the memory of them.

“I know the very ones,” Even replied, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into a hug. “But if you’re not careful you’ll end up like Old Nan, with no teeth. And then I’ll have to mash all of your food, sweet Ylva. What will your suitors think?”

She snorted a very delicate and dismissive laugh. “I don’t care what they think. I will eat whatever I desire—in fact I’ll marry a pastry chef and he will be just delighted to stuff me full to bursting of his pastries.”

It was Even’s turn to laugh now, the first time he’d done so genuinely all afternoon. And she was grinning, relieved she could break the sombre atmosphere that had descended after the last few long days. “I’m not sure the King will be pleased about that but that is why I love you,” Even said, kissing the crown of her head.

“But really, Uncle, what will you do? Grandfather won’t be pleased if you don’t,” she broke off from the sentence, trying to find the right words. “Find someone? How awful is that, like you were fishing or something silly like that. Isn’t love supposed to find you? That is what Mother always said.”

“Your mother was never wrong,” Even agreed. It was silly, but he was resigned to the fact he would be cobbled to the best fit, as it was seen by his father and the kingdom. Even’s inability to find someone would inevitably force the King’s hand to arrange something. Maybe that would be for the best. “But sometimes love isn’t what is destined.” Even murmured, staring across the multicoloured verdure below them. “Just make sure you love this pastry chef, won’t you?”

Big golden eyes looked up at him solemnly, empathy for her uncle splitting her tiny heart. “I wish I could help,” she told him sincerely.

“You do,” he smiled back, trying to reassure her. “I have enough love for you and your brother to be a very happy man for the rest of my days.” And it was the truth, he was blessed in this.

Ylva opened her mouth to say something but the door banged open. Her brow creased at the intrusion before she looked behind them, past the long net and lace curtains that gently swayed in the summer breeze.

Even was frowning at the interloper too. Dressed in their house livery of burgundy and gold, Even’s manservant stumbled in to the room, looking flustered beyond belief.

“ _Fossy_!” Ylva hissed at him. “The Prince is asleep you plum,” she stared daggers at him, and he took a backward step, visibly searching for his tongue. His hands even patted at the pockets in his waistcoat incase he might has mislaid it there.

Even touched her arm gently, and her frown subsided. “Now, Ylva. Don't aim your ire at the messenger,” he corrected before turning back to Magnus. He knew why he'd been sent, of course. “But she's quite right. Birk is sleeping, he needs the rest after all the excitement.”

“Sorry, My Lord,” he bowed once in Even’s direction before turning to Ylva. Then he mimicked a curtsy to her, earning a small giggle that was captured by her hand. “My lady,” he added, before turning to the bed that Birk was sprawled in, having kicked off his blankets, those long legs draped every which direction. “My little lord,” he whispered, then he tiptoed towards the balcony. “The King is… _looking_ for you,” he stated uncomfortably. And by that he meant every single one of their household was probably wildly searching.

“I came up to put Birk abed,” Even said, although they both knew he'd been eager to escape.

“There's a _banquet_ down there, just waiting for you to _sample_ , My Lord.” Magnus didn't disapprove of the ladies that had turned out, that had been very clear.

Ylva made a disapproving noise. “Perhaps the _banquet_ is not to our tastes.”

Magnus flushed, evidently embarrassed by his attempts at a double meaning that had been easily worked out by Ylva’s keen ears.

“I'm tired of it all, Magnus. Tell my father to put a blindfold on and pick one at random.”

“He would most certainly not do that, My Lord,” Magnus said, offended on the King’s behalf. “There are ways of doing things, strictures and such. You wish everyone to take offence to such an off hand gesture?”

Even sighed in defeat. “Of course not, Magnus. I just wish—” he stopped, there was no point going over the same issues again and again. He wished many things that were not possible.

“Wishes aside, you know what is at stake now. Whether you like it or not, you are the rightful heir and your father isn't getting any younger—” but he didn't get to finish his lecture.

Ylva stood so quickly, it made Even jump. She stared down Magnus, fury broiling in her face, but failing the words that wanted to come. Instead, she bolted past him, yanking open the door and ran out into the hall. Even could hear her slippered feet on the carpet as she ran down the hall.

“That was nicely done,” Even muttered, standing and moving to follow in his niece’s footsteps.

“I didn't mean—” Magnus began, before cutting off at a subtle hand gesture from Even.

“I realise that, and I realise that my father put a fire under you all, but you _must_ know not to speak about such things around Ylva by now.” She was strong, but mention of rightful heir was personal for her, she couldn't separate it from the very fact things were how they were because her mother was no longer alive. And to add in the King’s mortality on top of that…  

Even was shaking his head as he passed Magnus.

“You will rejoin the ball, my Lord, won't you? Your father is quite furious already.”

“It can wait, Ylva needs me.” Magnus turned to him, adamant to argue his case, but Even silenced him with one finger held aloft. “And _you_ shall watch Birk, that's quite a good reason to stay out of my father's line of fire, hey Fossy?” He winked as the suggestion settled on Magnus, who was now beaming.

“I suppose I can't ignore a direct order from my Lord,” he replied, moving towards the chair next to Birk's bed. Lifting his coat tails, he settled with a sigh and picked up the book left on the side table. “I will watch him closely,” Magnus mused before flicking through the pages.

Even closed the door behind him and made his way down the hall, trying to anticipate where his niece would flee to. “Now if I were Ylva, where would I go to sulk?” he mused to himself, hands clasped behind his back before eyeing the servant’s stairs at the end of the hall.

### 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments advice, criticism, all welcomed as ususal <3


	2. The Rose Garden

###  The Rose Garden

The hold was a warren of halls and stairs, probably secret ones too. It was much more complex to orientate than the castle he lived in, which boasted of wide and high halls that opened into vast spaces. There were secret ways and passages, but not so convoluted as this place. 

Even found himself on the lower level and it was only the smell of blossom that brought his attention to a room which entered onto the rose garden. He'd almost made it outside when a short, stout woman bustled in through the open glass doors with a lean man on her heels, dressed in their finest, striped and slashed in the Valtersen house colours: grey and sky blue. 

They were speaking quietly between them before looking up to find Even crossing the room, coming towards them. 

“Aunt, Uncle,” Even greeted them warmly. They were neither of those things, but Duke Valtersen was a childhood friend of his father, he'd visited the palace frequently in Even’s youth, sometimes with the Duchess, with always a kind word and a hard candy to spare. In their latter years, with the raising of their own children, the visits had become less frequent. 

“My Lord,” they said in unison. Even almost rolled his eyes at the pomp of it all. 

“We don't need to mind with the formalities, there's no one here,” he said with a grin. Duchess Valtersen was already wringing her hands again at that notion. 

“Yes, well,” his uncle began uneasily. “I do believe there is quite a search on, you realise? The king—” 

“I am aware. I do, however, have the matter of a missing Princess to deal with,” Even replied, letting his concern show. 

“Oh dear, is sweet Ylva OK?” his Aunt asked. The wringing of her hands would induce anxiety in a corpse by now. 

“She will be fine when I find her.” Even seemed to be the only one to persuade her from her severe moods, he couldn't blame her for them. Even Old Nan couldn't invoke a smile with one of her fantastical stories of giants and warrior cats. 

“Did you happen to see any of my girls?” The Duke asked proudly, linking his thumbs behind his belt. 

Even nodded. “I have accounted for all five of them, much larger than what I recall them being,” he answered, before quickly retracing his steps, trying to get himself out of the poorly worded hole he’d just constructed. “By which I mean, quite womanly now; not the girls I would tease around the palace.” 

The Duke laughed and his wife smiled nervously. They were not looking for a marriage purely for prosperity, although that would surely come into play. It would suit them to be related by blood to their old friends as well. But, as varied and wonderful as they were, there was no match. It said more about Even than anyone else, perhaps he wasn't made to match anyone. But it mattered little in the grand scheme of the kingdom. 

“All five,” The Duchess murmured to herself. 

Her husband shot her a sideways glance. “ _ Six _ ,” he corrected softly, earning him a frown that was more concern and exhaustion than disagreement.

“Six? Perhaps my memory is giving already.” Even laughed softly, but the expression on both his Aunt’s and Uncle’s faces was one of discomfort. “But I haven't seen your son, the youngest— _ Isak? _ Last I remember he was sat in a tree, nose in a book. But he must be grown now?” 

And the discomfort only multiplied, the air was thick with unease. “Most certainly,” the Duchess said. The Duke opened his mouth to say something before she laid her hand on his wrist. “We must rejoin, husband. We will look out for Princess Ylva,” she turned to Even. “And we will let your father know you are on a valiant quest.” 

And with that, they bowed the proper degree as was expected to their rank before making an exit. Even frowned at them, puzzled at the conversation, before moving swiftly on to thoughts of his niece. 

Stepping out into the garden, Even let himself smile. It was quite beautiful and wonderfully fresh, a contrast to the stuffy ballroom. He meandered past bushes almost his height, it made the garden seem more like a maze. There were secret corners that hosted marble lovers’ benches, and tall poplars that sheltered areas from prying eyes—from further up the great hold. Those trees also did a valiant job of blocking any noise that came from within the stone walls. All he could hear was birds singing sweetly in the fruit trees dotted throughout the sprawling, almost wild, space. 

A sound made him freeze in his tracks. A laugh like liquid gold, but it wasn’t just any giggle,  _ that  _ was Ylva. And there was a second, deeper laugh that followed. 

Striding quicker now, Even turned a corner to find two people sprawled beneath an apple tree staring at the blue sky. The dark curls spread out behind the smaller figure gave his niece away. But Even frowned at the second unfamiliar figure. 

Their hair was not as long as Ylva's, perhaps only meeting their shoulder, but it was a blend of gold and brown. It curled like his niece’s, Even could see that much at least from this distance. But they were kitted out in an odd fashion, they wore Valtersen colours, the breeches fitted and stuffed into the tops of high boots, that were elegantly shaped and heeled. Their jacket was tailored in a flattering way; cinched at the waist and double buttoned. Frothy, ivory lace spilled from the top of the coat where the buttons stopped just over halfway up their chest, and again at the sleeves, that stopped between wrist and elbow. It was a fashion Even had never seen before. 

He moved closer to the two, the stranger pointed at the sky and said something Even couldn't quite catch which granted another of Ylva's musical laughs. Who was this that so easily gained her trust? She would have told Even of any new friends she’d made. 

Clearing his throat, Even encroached on their secretive game. Ylva span around defensively before her face split into a smile. “Uncle!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her knees, long-anticipated grass stains on her pale yellow skirts. “This is my friend, Issie.” She gestured to the peculiarly dressed acquaintance at her side. 

This new friend had scrambled to sit at the intrusion, sitting on their hip, legs bent behind them whilst nervously pushing a curl behind their ear. The pose was supposed to be relaxed, but Issie was evidently unsure. 

“You shouldn't run off, Little Wolf. I was worried.” But Ylva sent him a long suffering expression in return. 

“I realise you find it easy to get lost, but I have a most excellent sense of direction,” she sniped. 

“That may be, but you must be careful, we are here as guests. You can't go gallivanting around like that,” he sighed, having reached their gathering. “May I?” he asked them both. He looked to Issie, and for a heartbeat he caught hazel, green eyes watching him before they were cast down. A becoming blush spreading on their cheeks, before they nodded. 

“Yes, please Uncle. We were seeing shapes in the clouds. I saw a kitten, Issie said she saw a bear riding a mouse, isn't that the most ridiculous thing?” She was rushing her words obviously enamoured by her new friend. 

Even settled at her side. “That does sound peculiar,” he said with a grin, his eyes sliding back to Issie, like she was a magnet. Even found her immensely intriguing for a reason he could not fathom. “What is Issie short for? It sounds like a nickname.” 

She hesitated for a moment, eyes darting around the bushes that surrounded her for an answer. Then Even watched as Issie gathered her conviction, and stubbornness made her firm her jaw. “It’s short for Isabella,” she said, a defiant gleam in her eyes as she stared Even down. 

But whatever battle she assumed, Even wouldn't give. “It’s a beautiful name,” he said simply. “My great grandmother was named Isabella,” he added with a smile. 

She looked curiously familiar to Even. And it was when she smiled a crooked and becoming smile, dimpling her cheeks, that he recalled her. A youth, sat in a tree with a book. Now his Aunt and Uncle’s discomfort became clear to him. The Duchess was aggrieved by Ylva and Birk taking a suite larger than his own, Even was sure  _ this  _ situation probably gave her apoplexy. It fazed Even not one bit. The creature before him was beautiful and that was all that he minded himself with—which he realised was a vapid notion entirely, but there it was. 

“So, where is this great bear that rides on the back of a mouse?” Even asked, looking to the pure white clouds that floated lazily across the azure sky. 

Ylva tutted. “Well it's gone now, Uncle. Clouds don't stay still, you know.” 

“Oh, they don't? Surely they would if you commanded it, sweet Ylva.” 

He grinned at her, but her face paled. She looked guilty, and before Even could probe any further, Issie broke her silence. 

“ _ Ylva _ ? You said your name was Beau. You’re Princess Ylva?” The words were said in half scandal and the rest amused. 

Ylva sighed. “I just didn't want you to tell me to go back inside. You’re the first nice person I’ve met,” she said, her voice trained in a sorrowful timbre and looking up with her big golden eyes. In that moment, Even felt for Issie, there was no surviving that look.

Just as he anticipated, Issie’s shook her head and tutted. “Well, I won’t tell you to go back inside,” she said before her face froze, and her eyes were on Even. “ _ Uncle _ ,” she repeated, before stuttering on. “So you are the crown prince?” Even nodded, amused at the relative indifference he was offered, as opposed to the fawning everyone else would display. “You’ve changed since last I saw you; you were intent on pulling every last one of my sisters’ pigtails,” she added, with a smirk.  

“We tend to grow and change with the years, my lady.” he added a smirk of his own when she blushed again, and deeper still, with the title bestowed. She worked her mouth looking for a reply and Even grinned in anticipation.

“Oh, Even, Issie was telling me about the library they have here; it’s almost as big as ours, she said—  _ and  _ they have books we don’t have: The Great Hunt and Eva On The Moon. Do you think we might look, a-and borrow them?” The words tumbled out of his niece excitedly, she only really used his first name when she was excited beyond control. 

“You might need to ask the Lady Valtersen,” Even said with a nod in her direction.

“Oh, you won’t mind will you? You love books too- Even she reads just as much as I do. But she likes… what is it you read again?” Ylva asked her earnestly.

Issie was shaking her head, the loose curls that hung to her shoulders swaying with the gesture. “It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly, eyes dropping to her lap. “I’m sure my lord has heard enough of other’s interests by this point.”

But Ylva pulled at her arm insistently. “Oh, yes it does. It’s not the same, you—for starters—are interesting.” She nodded her small head to herself, satisfied with her words, as Issie smiled softly back at her. “Uncle, she reads about herbs and… medicine— _ I think _ .” 

Even had to agree with his niece, that  _ was  _ interesting. “Herbs and medicine? That sounds intriguing. Learning a cure for too much wine?” he asked Issie.

She shook her head, looking entirely put on the spot and not used to having to explain herself. A small huff of frustration left her lips before she answered, and the notion of her being both frustrated and flustered under due interest was endearing to Even. 

“I have always been interested in learning, to help others. I would be a doctor but  _ apparently  _ it’s unbecoming to my station. Instead, I find remedies and cures through research, I obtain ingredients and I go and help anyone that needs it,” she said in a defensive manner, as if trying to justify her existence. “I have been disappointment enough for my parents to risk going against their wishes entirely.”

Even frowned at her. “Disappointment? There is nothing higher than my niece’s praise in a person. I’m inclined to believe you are interesting and pleasant as she says, and nothing I have seen so far indicates anything that would disappoint. There is nothing disgraceful in courage and intellect, surely?”

If he hadn’t been so intrigued at the way Issie was fiddling with the lace of her shirt, unable to look him in the eye, Even would have caught the cunning look that was divided between them both from the small wolf sat between them.

“Lady Issie, is there any herbs or healing plants in the garden for me to look out for? I do so love learning,” she said. If Even didn’t know her better, or wasn’t as familiar with the sharp smile that indicated her wit was at work, he would have taken the request at face value. But, knowing her as he did, he scoured her with a bemused gaze. She shrugged innocently. 

“There are many. One is the Doc leaf; a big wide leaf that grows in low small patches, good for bites and stings. Another is Aloe; it grows in patches too but the leaves are not quite leaves—more how you would imagine a dragon's tail to look. It’s used to soothe, skin or body. You can make tea—”

But Issie was cut off as Ylva lept up, clapping her hands excitedly. “Aloe, that sounds perfect. I shall search for it.” She grinned at them both before whirling around and heading towards the nearest thicket.

“Do you want some help, Ylva?” Issie called out hopefully. But that knowing smile was still there when Ylva glanced back over her shoulder at them.

“I’ll be fine, Issie, thank you kindly.”

Even was laughing at his niece’s manipulation. She really would excel as a ruler, the reminder brought him back to sobriety and the long silence that was stretching out between him and Issie. 

“Thank you for watching out for her,” he said. “She doesn’t often take to people.”

Issie was smiling in the direction Ylva had disappeared. “It was a pleasure, she is wonderful. I have only a handful of memories of your sister and her beauty, but it is revisited in this one.”

He nodded. “Beauty, wit, grace, humour—she is quite the handful.” 

“Most things of worth are quite a handful,” Issie replied softly, before turning back to Even. She seemed to remember where she was and to whom she was speaking with, Even clearly saw as she tried to guard herself—against  _ what  _ he wasn’t sure. 

“So, you enjoy caring for people? You put me to shame,” he offered, hoping he could keep her soft enough to speak freely. This was as refreshing as the air out in this garden. 

“I’m sure that’s not true. I hear you yourself open the palace kitchens on a Sunday to the people who might need a meal or some supplies. And that you find apprenticeships for young men and women new to the city. Come now, don’t try to flatter me with deceit.” She shot him a challenging look, but it was a tease.

Even laughed. “You have done your research. But I can’t claim credit for the open kitchen idea, it was something my late sister thought of. I simply made it happen, which isn’t entirely difficult to do when you have people around you that want to comb your hair on your behalf.”

She laughed now, and Even considered that he may have swallowed butterflies by the fluttering he felt inside. He’d earned a laugh now too, one just as precious as his niece’s. 

“Modest,” Issie said quietly. “I wouldn’t have assumed that of you.”

“And what did you assume?” Even asked curiously.

The crooked half smile returned, and this time she licked her lips before continuing. Even found himself rather mesmerised by her mouth. “I assumed a boy wearing boots much bigger than his size, full of the regal glee at everyone’s awe; all the men want to be you, and all the women want to be with you.” She finished off with that defiant expression, that was now eager for a comeback. She was beginning to enjoy their back and forth. 

“And would you be one of those women?” he dared to ask, but regretted the question as soon as it was out as self doubt flooded her features.

“I am not a  _ regular  _ woman,” she replied, voice low. It pained him to see such self deprecation in her. 

“You are not,” Even agreed. Issie’s eyes darted up to his face, anger flashing in them—but he carried on before she could marr the intent of his statement. “You are a  _ remarkable  _ woman.”

Issie’s eyes dropped from his, and she looked uncomfortable, her mouth working before she began to speak. “You don’t understand—you don’t remember. I am—”

He knew what she was about to do, thinking that perhaps Even’s head was stuffed with straw and he wouldn’t remember how she had looked when they were young. She felt the need to disclose her secrets—her former name—in case Even declared her a fraud. They were all ridiculous notions entirely. 

“You are,” Even cut in, shifting to sit beside her. “Lady Isabella of house Valtersen, the  _ sixth  _ daughter of the Duke and Duchess of this great hold. I understand perfectly,” he said with a soft smile.   

She didn’t reply, she didn’t look at Even, but a tear broke away from her eyelashes at his words.

“I think I would forever berate myself if I made you morose, I didn’t mean to offend,” he added. Even reached out towards her and she stilled as his finger brushed the tear away. 

Her breath left her in a rush when he let his hand fall into his lap. “You didn’t offend me, my lord.” 

“Well, I am relieved. The idea of eternal beratement doesn’t sound too appealing,” he replied, delighted when her smile returned. “But formalities are unnecessary; please, call me Even.”

Her eyes darted up to meet his. “Even,” she said softly. It felt like a caress. Issie hesitated before going on. “Shouldn’t you be inside, with all the guests? I believe this entire nonsense is being held on your behalf.”

Even shrugged. “I’m terribly bored of it all. And I don’t mean for that to sound ungrateful. It’s the same platitudes, just a different face. Everyone is trying to be something that may appeal to me. I even had one person who had apparently spoken to my wet nurse to find out my favorite colour as a babe so they could have a dress made in that very hue. But no one is being themselves, and I find none of them intriguing—except you, that is.” It was not flattery, and it was not simply today. Even’s life was full of people whose duty it was to tell him what they thought he wanted to hear, it was tiring. And here he had found something contrary to what he knew, something contrary and utterly captivating. 

Issie raised her eyebrows, trying to retain her look of indifference, but Even was pleased to see it melting away. “You are an even better flatterer than your dear niece, Even,” she stated with a sniff, but before Even could argue she carried right on. “And so what is it then?”

“What is what?”

Sighing with mostly feigned exasperation, Issie smirked and shook her head. “Your favorite colour.”

“Oh,” Even exclaimed, leaning back on his palms and examining the sky. It was justifiable for him to lose track of his conversation when here he sat, next to someone with such a natural beauty and clothes tailored to compliment every line of her. But Even conceded that she would probably look just as fine in a potato sack. “I think it was probably yellow,” he mused, letting his gaze drift back to Isabella. “But I think now it is a very unique shade of green and hazel.” He finished the statement looking into her eyes. 

The blush was back, and so was Even’s grin. She shook her head in defiance. “Incorrigible,” she muttered under her breath before finding stronger words. “You know I am not one of those girls you can chase around to pull their pigtails?”

And she had given him the very excuse he had been looking for to touch the soft, short curls that swayed with her resistance. Issie watched as he reached out to gently toy with the end of one. “You would have to grow your hair longer first,” he replied. 

Issie’s jaw dropped in shock, her hand coming to slap against Even’s arm as he laughed. “You are quite inappropriate. I never would have thought…” she trailed off, but didn’t pull away from Even as he continued to play with the ends of her hair. He had the desperate urge to run his fingers through it. 

“I believe you were the one who brought up the idea of chasing,” he replied absentmindedly. “And you managed to dodge one of my questions, too.”

“What was that?” she murmured, her hand had rested on his arm where she’d struck him. They were closer now, he thought, and she didn’t look uncomfortable with their proximity as her eyes began to search Even’s face, like he was searching hers.

“Are you one of those women that want to be with me?”

“I don’t even know you,” she snorted softly.

“You know me better than any of them already.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Do you need to have every single member of the court fawning after you?” Her words attempted to mock but they came out breathless.

Even smiled, the butterflies in his stomach now swarmed. “No. Just one. I wouldn’t want my fawning to be one sided.” 

Chin dropping to her chest, Issie broke her gaze from him again. He could imagine her heart was beating as fast as his. This may all seem like some well thought out act, but he’d never been like this before; utterly captivated by one person. He already knew that he needed her, it was simply an instinct and one he trusted entirely. 

Inching towards Issie, Even ducked his head until her hair brushed against his cheek and he anticipated the feel of her skin on his own. Her rapid breaths rained down on his neck. The corner of his mouth was just millimeters from hers. Even licked his lips, and spoke, voice gravelly in his own ears. “May I… ?”

But the question was cut short as dainty footsteps hammered down on the grass, advancing towards them. Issie and Even jumped away from each other just as  Ylva rounded a corner and came rushing into the clearing, smiling and gasping for air. Her skirts were held up delicately at the front to fold the material, making a pouch that was now full of varying flowers and leaves. The grass stains on the delicate fabric of her dress were now accompanied by a fair amount of mud smudges too. 

Her feet skidded to a halt and she let go of her skirts, letting the flowers and leaves shower down on their spot, before plonking herself within the small circle. She beamed up at them both as they remained shocked at the intrusion, and what it had cut short. For all her cunning, Ylva’s timing was appalling.

Ylva spread out her hands, gesturing at the scattered fauna and showcasing her winnings. “Now, I don’t think I came across any aloe, but I did find all of these. One  _ must  _ have healing properties.” She looked up at Issie with expectation all over her face. 

Pursing her lips, Issie picked through the colourful swirl of petals thoughtfully, and Even simply watched her as she did so, he could do nothing else. “Well, you have some lavender. The scent of which is calming, you can have the fresh buds or make it into an oil. If you place a small candle under a vessel with water and a few drops of lavender oil inside, you can create quite a potent fragrance. I know midwives who use it in labour to help calm the mother.” Ylva preened under the smile Issie gave her, before turning to Even.

“See, I’m a natural, Uncle. I’m going to study medicine,” she proclaimed, smoothing her soiled skirts whilst eyeing Issie’s breeches. “And I’m going to get the tailor to make me a pair of those,” she added, prodding at the fabric tight around Issie’s thighs. “I bet they are wonderful for riding horses. I almost never use a saddle because side saddle is just silly, and so I always end up with my stockings and skirts all over the place. And I never hear the end of it from Old Nan.” She let a small petulant sigh out to punctuate the statement. 

“And what will Grandfather think of you walking around the yard in breeches and boots, Little Wolf?” Even teased with a grin. Perhaps they would start a new trend between them.

“I will tell Grandfather to wear skirts for just one day and see how he likes it.” She folded her arms, jutting her chin out defiantly. Even didn’t doubt that she would say exactly that, and probably in front of the entire court. 

“But you do look so beautiful in dresses, Ylva,” Issie added, looking at her wistfully while detangling a knot from the end of her long dark hair. She plucked a leaf free with elegant fingers and Even watched contentedly at the two of them 

Ylva chewed her lip at the statement. “Perhaps I shall have both then. There will be days when dresses are in order, and days when they are impractical.” She nodded to herself, pleased with her own proclamation. 

“That’s a very wise decision,” Issie said, still focussed on unmussing Ylva’s hair. 

Wide golden eyes examined her for a moment. “Do you like wearing dresses, Lady Issie?”

She lifted her eyes from Ylva’s hair, to study the young girl for a moment. “I’m not permitted to wear dresses,” she answered finally. “It is why I am not at the ball, I wish to wear a gown—as all the ladies do—but I am not allowed.”

“Oh,” Ylva’s eyes filled with confusion and compassion. “Well, that’s a nonsense. Why ever not? You should be able to dress as you wish. Do you want to wear dresses all of the time? You should, if you do.”

Issie was laughing softly, done with rearranging Ylva’s hair, she leant back on a palm. “I wish to wear what I like on the days that it suits, just like you.”

“Well,” Ylva said finally, coming to a conclusion within her small self. “When the tailor makes my breeches I shall have them make you a dress—no, a whole wardrobe of dresses.”

Having watched the interaction, and both feeling warmth in Ylva’s gesture and sorrow in Issie’s confession, Even opened his mouth to add his thoughts to the issue, which would simply have been a repeat of his niece’s statement. But before he could say anything, a young voice called out from some place obscured by bushes and flowers—as was most of the garden.

_ “Belle?”  _

Even cocked his head at the young girl whose cheeks were pinkening before his very eyes. “Ylva, have you been deceiving people again?”

She looked to answer, but her shame vanished, lost to a grin as a head of shaggy hair appeared from around a bush, before the caller made themselves known. 

“I was playing hide and seek with Jonas, you see Uncle. I didn’t want him to make me go back,” she pled, as the young man came closer to the gathering. 

Issie sighed, before smirking at the new comer. “You should be well aware of my cousin, Ylva. He isn’t as smart as he could be, and much too romantic for any good at all.” 

If anything, Ylva’s grin deepend at the statement. 

_ “Ylva?”  _ Jonas asked in shock, stalling before he reached them. And then he frowned at the statement that had preceded him. “Not as smart as I could be? Issie, that’s not kind.”

“Well, if you spent less time writing poetry and more time studying with me…” Issie left off with a knowing look. This discussion had been had before. “And you don’t deny the charges over being a romantic?” She snorted as Jonas scrubbed a hand through his hair and shrugged. 

“I thought you were picking flowers and leaves, niece. When did you have the time for hide and seek?” Even asked.

“Jonas picked most of them from the high bushes, and then he went to hide. I realised we were close to you so I thought I would bring them, and then go back.” She chewed her lip guiltily, before shooting an apologetic look at Jonas. It quickly turned into a look of consideration as Even saw a question form in her mind. “Do you, by any chance, know how to make good pastries?”

Even choked on his laughter, and Ylva looked quite unrepentant at the quip only she and her uncle would understand. 

“Oh, Jonas,” Even began as he looked over at the young man. He probably only had three or four years on Ylva and was definitely no match. But who was? “I would run now whilst you are still able. The prey of a wolf rarely gets a chance to sing its captor’s praise.” 

Blinking in confusion, Jonas took a backward unsure step. Even was about to smooth out his words before another voice called out: his father.

_ “Even. Ylva. I know you are out here!” _

Even sighed heavily. “Well, this was wonderful while it lasted,” he murmured.

“Shall we hide?” Ylva said, in that gentle shout that was disguised as a whisper.

“I think maybe the game is up,” Even admitted, looking to Issie who shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Even. Evidently she was unsure about whatever had passed between them; she purposefully avoided his eye. “But you can’t go in like that, Ylva. You will get a scolding thrice over.” He gestured at what had been a perfectly clean and presentable dress before entering the garden. 

“I can help,” Issie said, grinning at Ylva in a way that made Even jealous that he wasn’t on the receiving end. “My rooms are just over there. I’m sure we can find something for you.” With that, Issie stood, and Even swallowed, averting his eyes from the snug way her breeches emphasised the curve of her backside. He was supposed to be a gentleman. But it was quite possibly the most perfect backside he’d ever seen.

Ylva jumped up, grinning eagerly as she took Issie’s hand. “That would be wonderful,” she declared, before shooting a glance in Jonas’s direction. “Maybe you could ask me for a dance once the band plays after dinner?” It was less a question and more an order. Only Ylva would tell someone they should consider asking her to dance.

Nodding, Jonas stuck his hands in his pockets, bowing awkwardly, before eyeing Even nervously. “As you wish, my lady.” He made a quick exit, as Ylva and Issie began to walk away, beginning to talk softly about breeches, Even would assume. 

But if Issie was not permitted to the ball, he may not see her again. That thought had him on his feet in a heartbeat, two long legged strides had him caught up with them. He reached out to catch Issie’s hand, and she stopped when he touched her, turning easily at his direction. Ylva watched the interaction, a not so innocent smile playing on her lips. 

“Would you meet me here? Later?” he asked, rushing the words. He was nervous of her refusal. 

Issie’s eyes had been on his hand, holding onto hers, but they drifted up to meet Even’s. “Out here?” she asked, her voice just as apprehensive as Even’s. He nodded, unable to find his tongue at that moment. “What time?”

“I don’t know,” he stuttered. He hadn’t really thought this through. “I’m not sure when father will let me out of his sight again.”

“Midnight?” she offered quickly. Her fingers were beginning to soften in his palm.

“Midnight.” he agreed with a nod. Regardless of how late this bore of a ball went on, he would be out here on time.

Issie looked down at their hands, that crooked smile on her face that Even was quickly becoming enamoured with. “You will have to release me unless you wish for us all to get caught,” she said. Ylva snickered at her side, but was by this point not caring to hide the delight she was finding in what she was a witness to. 

Even smirked. He was in for more trouble than he could imagine if he had both of these women in his life. But instead of acknowledging the request, he lifted Issie’s hand, watching as the frothy lace fell back gracefully and hazel-green eyes widened in surprise. He ducked his head to push a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“Until then,” he said, releasing her at last.

Mouth working, Issie looked to be trying to find something to say. She gave up, simply shaking her head again. “Until then,” she simply repeated, before turning and walking in the direction of her suite, Ylva beaming back over her shoulder at Even.

With a sigh, he turned himself in the direction he had first come out here, moving quickly to catch up with Jonas. He would need some advice on how to lead a dance with a wolf. 

### 


	3. Midnight

###  Midnight

Even was about to give up on her. He’d sat here, on the bench near where they’d gathered earlier on the grass, for what seemed an hour. He would need to return soon, the merriment was still ongoing, he could hear. He was very much expected to be the last one standing, and it was all the more droll for the lack of Ylva. She’d made it to just past ten, fitted out in a dress procured mysteriously while in Issie’s company, before Even had found her asleep under a table. His father had interceded just before Even could make the excuse to put her to bed, summoning Magnus to take on that job.

He hadn’t sulked, per se, but his father had detected his demeanor enough to pull him aside for a stern word. Yes, the King was getting decidedly upset with Even’s avoidance techniques. But he hadn’t been able to stop watching the large clock in the great hall, with only half a mind to the conversations around him. 

Thoughts and plans had been unfolding in his mind, trying to fit together everything like a puzzle that would ultimately end with everyone happy. But with silence for company, he had to consider that Issie had perhaps had a change of mind. Expression solemn, Even considered the news he would deliver to his father on the morrow, when they would make their way back to the capital. If there was no hope for love for him, his father’s best choice would have to do. Just as he was grieving the future that might have been, he heard leaves rustle at his back. 

In a heartbeat, Even was on his feet and turning towards the noise. She slipped into the moonlight hesitantly, appearing as if by magic, from behind a wall of leaves that he knew by daylight held the most beautiful orange flowers. He’d plucked one already, the finest he could find, and tucked it safely into the breast pocket of his suit with the sincere intent to give it to her, or ask permission to thread it behind her ear. But now she was here, it was the furthest thing from his mind. There was certainly hesitation there, but it mingled in perfect quantities with defiance. Isabella's chin tilted up as if to challenge whatever thoughts were in his mind. 

And, as Even took her in, his mind overflowed with thoughts. 

Gone were the fitted breeches, and the coat cinched at the waist. Her hair still hung in golden ringlets, the ends brushed her shoulders, one of which was bare; her pale, lace night coat had slipped down, revealing what Even assumed was a cotton shift with dainty straps. Evidently, she was allowed to dress more to her tastes for bed, which was a travesty in Even’s eyes. She deserved to dress in whichever way she desired at all times. 

Even realised he'd been staring, his lips parted. So he swallowed and cleared his throat. “You look—” His voice was hushed and slow, not knowing what words to use because they all seemed to pale in comparison. 

“Different?” she offered, defensively. 

He was shaking his head in disagreement, not realising he was moving towards her. “Beautiful,” he corrected, surprised at how breathless he sounded. It was cliche, but she was breathtaking, and he was already convinced she'd stolen his heart too. 

Isabella dropped her chin at the comment, and Even wanted to cup her face, touch her cheek to see if he could feel the heat of her blush. He found himself in silent prayer that she was as taken with him as he was with her. 

“No one has ever called me beautiful before,” her voice sorrowful, as she studied her toes, poking out from the hem of her nightdress. She was barefoot and Even felt a compulsion to kiss every inch of her soles. 

He wanted to chase away her despair and at the same time rage against a world that had denied her ears their dues—their  _ right _ —to be called beautiful, and the multitude of other things that should have been whispered countless times on endless nights like these. Even would make up for that, if she allowed him. 

In two short strides he was in front of her, giving in to the desire to touch her. His fingertip landed softly on Isabella's chin, tilting it back up so their eyes met. 

“Then you must be surrounded by blind and mute fools, because not only is it the most obvious fact that I can see, it's the most prevalent truth I've ever known.” 

Her lips parted on a breath that ebbed from her body irregularly. Her lips were like rose petals, their parting was her bloom, and Even could only imagine how sweet the nectar was that lay on her tongue. 

“There was a question I didn’t manage to ask earlier.”

Her eyes swept over Even’s face, lingering on his mouth for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Well?” she asked impatiently.

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she whispered quickly.

Even held on to the moment, for as long as he could, recollecting every detail: the way her lower lip trembled, and her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation, the moon casting silver through her hair. But he could resist no more, and thankfully there were no footsteps to disturb them in this solace.

His lips met hers, softly pushing upon her mouth, his hand on her cheek. Issie seemed to rise on her toes at the kiss, leaning into him but her hands were still by her sides. 

Pulling away from her, Even drew in a quick breath, intending to ask if this was OK. The chance was taken away as fingers wove through his hair, and another hand gripped the hem of his shirt, urging him back home, back to her mouth. And he went, letting his fingers comb through her curls as the kiss deepened.

Her lips parted to Even, as his hands came to rest on her waist, and there was no stopping them now, even if the whole population of the ballroom were to empty out into the rose garden, nothing would have broken them apart. As it was, they remained blissfully alone, as Issie took a handful of steps backwards, pulling Even with her until she came to stop, at what Even realised was a marble railing. 

Hesitating, Even fought the urge to run his hands over her. But from the little hold he had it was enough to drive him to dangerous thoughts. The thin, smooth material moved easily over what was beneath, and his thumb traced the lines of a light corset that Issie was wearing over her nightgown. His mind betrayed him by invoking images of how it would look, what material it was, and how it would feel to unlace the back… 

Panting against her lips, they caught their breaths, Even trying to control the passion that was surging through him. Her hands were braver than his own; they traced up his back, making the return trip before coming to rest on his backside. Aside from the nervous flutter of her eyes, there was also a sparkle of challenge.

“Are you OK?” 

She nodded, biting her lip. “You?” she whispered, a touch of apprehension in her tone.

Even grinned before answering. “How could I not be?”

That half exasperated and all the rest flattered look setted on Issie’s face, Even was quickly getting accustomed to it. She opened her mouth before stalling when someone's footsteps could be heard, far on the other side of the garden.

_ “My Lord _ _ , are you out here?” _ Even knew straight away that it was Magnus, sent out to search for him again. He didn’t bother to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“Should you go back?” she asked, back to worrying her bottom lip. It was sweet that now she held back from directing him where she assumed he should be: at the ball. Her fingertips hadn’t released their hold of him either. And Even wanted to stay.

Shaking his head, he answered. “I don’t want to. Should we hide?”

Issie deliberated a moment before grabbing his hand, a small smile curving her lips. “Come,” she said, before turning and pulling him along.

_ “My Lord?”  _ Magnus called out again.

“Quicky,” Issie urged, the word lost in a suppressed giggle. At the word, they both picked up their feet, running to wherever Issie had in mind. Stumbling to a halt by the stone wall of the hold, there were a pair of glass doors, lace curtains hanging on the inside, and roses climbing the wall to frame the entrance. Issie put a hand to one bronze handle, pushing it open and moving inside, pulling Even firmly along with her. 

He stumbled into the low lit room, taking in the decor as Issie pressed her back to the door as she closed it, catching her breath and laughing. 

The first thing that came to mind was a clean simplicity; the colour was mostly cream, light wood flooring lay beneath his boots, shining in good condition. There weren't too many objects, but enough to make it homely. A vase with the Valtersen lion crest in blue and grey and filled with colourful flowers sat on the mantelpiece, while on a heavy chest of drawers stood a large marble bowl that held water and petals—the ones Ylva had picked—which emitted a pleasant fragrance. There were shelves neatly lined with books and on the end of one a silver statue of a maid with a swan, and the only other burst of colour was from a large oil painting of the sun rising over the sea that hung over a large, solid bed—it was a welcome spray of yellow, orange, red and purple. The rest was as expected: wardrobes, fleece rugs on the floor and a door which Even assumed led to the washroom.  

He realised Issie was watching him intently once his study was through, a curious gleam in her eyes—no doubt wondering what he was thinking. 

But as the quiet became more apparent, so did their predicament of being alone together, within Issie’s bedchamber. A nervous energy filled the room, making it close and humid, the air seemed to crackle with the potential and promise between them. 

“I like it,” he said, frustrated at how slow witted the assessment may have sounded. “It feels very comfortable and welcoming,” Even added with a smile. 

And he could see her clearer now, which didn't help the situation one bit. The lace night coat was ivory, but there was elegant green needlework all over the material, depicting leaves that coiled and swirled. The night gown underneath was ivory too, and he could just see the spring green shade of the corset poking through a gap in the night coat. 

Here he sat, in his finest silk blouse, and a velvet burgundy dress suit embroidered with gold up the sleeves and over the breast, yet still he felt inadequately attired when contrasted with how Isabella was so perfectly turned out in her nightwear—as undone as it was—with her shoulder still bare.

Issie leaned harder against the door, chest still heaving more than it should, but not with exertion now. “I'm glad that you like it,” she said. 

“If you feel this is inappropriate, I can leave—” Even began, he didn't want for her to feel uncomfortable. But she was shaking her head vehemently. 

“No, no—unless you want to go, of course.” Her words were fast and brimming with unsurety. 

It was his turn to shake his head. “I'm sure there's nowhere else I would prefer to be.” 

Gathering herself, Issie pushed away from the door at her back, taking a trepidatious step towards him. “You just look… I'm not sure. You look unsettled.” 

Even watched as she walked warily towards him, before stopping short. “Not unsettled, I am in the presence of temptation, and I'm sure I am not well behaved enough to deny my desires.” 

“What are your desires?” She asked, eyes wide and hopeful. Even couldn't see anything but her, he couldn't feel anything but their attraction. 

“Just you,” he admitted quietly. She continued to stare at him, mouth parted and looking not quite half as desperate as Even felt. 

“Please don't play with me, Even,” she murmured. And Even hurt with the words, looking for the ambush to be sprung, that this was just a great joke, that Issie expected something so cruel as to be led on this way. What jokes and games had she endured? 

“I wouldn't dream of it, My Lady. I feel like my life depends on this,” Even admitted earnestly. Reaching forward, he took her hand and she moved easily towards him until there was only a slither of space between them and they were breathing the same air. 

Isabella looked to speak, her mouth parting on a word but it was lost as Even ducked his head, nudging her nose with his. Instead, a surprised gasp was released as she wavered for a moment, before tilting her chin up to catch his lips. 

They were kissing again, long deep kisses that both satisfied and left Even wanting. Her tongue slid along his, curving around each other in the most delicate and provoking dance he'd ever been a party to. Her hands ran over his chest before slipping under his coat. After a moment of deliberation she eased it over his shoulders, and Even let it slip off, falling to the floor. 

As soon as his hands were freed, he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush to him. Even had to break away from her mouth because there was no way to repress the groan of satisfaction that forced its way from his lungs at the sensation of her body pressed to his. The quiet moan that was Issie's response made his head spin. 

The courage was spreading and his fingers were eagerly tugging at the cords of her nightcoat, not quite as smoothly as Isabella had been, but soon enough he was sliding the soft material down her arms, letting it crumple to the floor and bathing in the sensation of her skin beneath his palms. Her fingers deftly loosened the cravat that was around his neck, and that too was soon on the floor. The realisation of what this heated kiss was turning into, almost expelled all conscious thought from Even’s mind.

He let the pads of his fingers run down her exposed shoulders, she shivered under his touch, and then he could feel the silk of her nightgown and the lacing on her light corset as it ran down her spine. 

Even pulled back from her lips to look at her, cheeks flushed and her eyes dark and heavy. He wanted to explain that this was a unique set of circumstances, that he would never dream to be so forward, that he was most probably a woolhead for weakening so quickly. But instead his fingers had found the end of the cord and began to pull at it, watching as her chest heaved with anticipation. It loosened slowly at first until his hands became impatient and they tugged, sending Issie's hands flying to the buttons on his shirt. There was no question about what either wanted. 

“Bed,” she urged, eyes clearly questioning and nervous that Even might not agree with the sentiment. But he nodded eagerly. 

She persuaded him back with her, sinking gracefully on to the comforters and down filled covers that were spread over the thick mattress, and pulling Even on top of her. Having made room enough, the hooks at the front of her corset were easy to undo. His own shirt was being tugged off, one arm and then the other, just as he'd released the final hook and the corset popped open, laying useless beneath Issie's back. Then it was just a matter of one single layer of silk between them. 

Returning to Issie’s mouth, Even kissed her desperately—the motions not quite so precise now, as need took over. She didn't complain, quite the contrary if the enticing moans and gasps she fed into his mouth were evidence to go by. And her hands acquainted themselves with his bare skin, running over his back and shoulders, teasing at the tops of his breeches, before scaling him again and carding though Even’s hair. 

They were both tiptoeing around the point of no return. Even began to kiss down her throat worrying the next move over in his mind. He had no doubts what he wanted and that was Isabella, all of her. But he needed to be sure she wanted him this way, too. 

“Issie, I've not done this before,” he whispered against her skin. Her fingers tightened in his hair. 

“Never?” She was as breathless as him. “With… anyone?” 

Even shook his head, coming to look down on her face. He realised she was trying to ask if Even meant at all of just with someone as unique as Issie. “No one,” he stated in a finite way. 

“Me neither.” 

Even licked his lips, trying to focus despite the way she stroked down his spine. “Do you want me to touch you?” She nodded, apprehension melting into anticipation. “How do you want me to touch you?” 

Her eyes stayed locked to his as she prepared her response. “Just… tenderly. Not—not rough.” 

Even nodded. He'd been intending to take his time anyway, puzzling how to make his touches feel right to her. “Tell me if I do something wrong, won't you?” 

The smile that spread on her face was one of the most beautiful things Even had witnessed. She didn't respond this time, just pulled his mouth towards hers, now it was her kisses that were frenzied with need. 

His fingers traced a slow path down her neck and then across her collarbone, slipping the lacy, dainty strap of her nightgown from her shoulder. Then he left her mouth, Issie seemed content to just breathe as his lips followed the same paths his fingers had made, feeling her pulse ticking wildy at her throat only urged Even on. 

But he kept to his word, every motion he made deliberate, focussing on her reaction to how his lips traced the lowering neckline of her gown, and how his palm edged up her calf, pushing her skirts higher until he was stroking patterns over the smooth skin behind her knee. 

No protests came, only encouraging sounds drawn from her throat, and her fingers that gripped at his hair and shoulders. Knowing that what he did made her feel good overwhelmed him with satisfaction, but it was an addictive emotion because now he needed to hear those delicate moans turn into something uncontrollable, he wanted to feel the desperate strength in her hands as she clung to him. 

So Even let his instincts take over, all the while trying to quieten his own natural responses to her. But it was hard; the way she felt beneath his hands, the taste of her skin, her voice in his ears, the way she undulated beneath him, the friction of her body against him making him ache. But he pushed those desires down, regardless of how powerful they were. 

His tongue drew a line across her chest, finding her nipple already hard. His mouth closed over it, running the flat of his tongue over her in long strokes before teasing it to stiffen further. The melody that she made as his hand moved further up her thigh indicated that she more than approved. After he’d spread that same deliberate attention over her chest, leaving wet trails over her pale skin, and her nipples the same deep flush as her cheeks, he began to move down the taut plane of her stomach. 

She arched beneath him, her breathing becoming ragged and irregular, but her hands urged him on, a gentle force that persuaded his mouth lower. Her eagerness to share herself with Even sent heat through him, and he could do nothing for the groan that escaped his mouth, muffled by the silk of her gown.  

His hand found her hip, thumb tracing the bone just as his mouth began to kiss over where she lay hard, one flimsy layer of material between such an intimate part of her and Even. There were dark marks already, the proof of her excitement leaking through her clothing. Even was sure he himself was in a similar situation. His kisses landed lightly, tracing her, trying to see how much of herself she would allow him. But his palm felt at home on her waist, her skin was as heated as Even felt. 

“Even,  _ please _ ,” she urged, and he wasn't sure if it was plea or command that he could hear in her voice. Either way he would obey, but he wanted to be sure of exactly what she wanted.

Looking up to her, he admired the way she gazed back at him, completely unabashed at how they were together. Admiration quickly turned to a painful yearning as he took her in. Her hair mussed; nightgown dishevelled—the straps far down her arms as she lay exposed; the flush that dusted over her had deepend; one of her hands was still buried in Even’s hair and the other gripped desperately at the comforters they lay sprawled across; and, lastly, green-hazel eyes that were dark pools—he could drown in the want that seemed to brim in them.

It took Even a few moments to find his tongue “Issie, can I see you?” he whispered. It was hardly a proper request, but he asked in the most delicate way he could find. 

The words seemed to be the right request, causing a conflict of emotions in Issie. She frowned in anticipated pleasure, a light gasp being released as her lips parted, but there seemed to Even that the shadow of her crooked smile was present. She nodded, eyes heavy lidded. “I want you to,” she murmured her assent. 

Even watched her a moment long, savouring the moment as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth in apprehension. Then his hand was gliding up her side, dragging silk over her skin; the tide retreating over the purest sand. It was torture to keep his pace slow, all he wanted was to see her lost in a deep euphoria caused by his hand, mouth, and body. 

Then she was bare beneath him, so very identical to Even’s own body but at the same time so entirely different. The thought of learning her was a thrill on its own, figuring out the unique and wonderful ways to adorn her with his attention. But he started with her lead: tenderness.

His lips trailed their soft kisses, tracing her and letting his cheek brush against her length. Issie shifted beneath him, her hips tilting, as her breathing became rapid again. When his lips moved over soft hair, she began to say his name—over and over. Softly at first, but the want began to drive that word more forcefully from her throat.  

While he took in everything her body had to say, with every sense available, his fingers began to explore, following the seam where thigh met groin, and discovering the smooth, soft, firmness of her body. A wordlessly cry leapt from her when his grip landed on her inner thigh, pushing her leg higher still to make room for himself within this warm, cradling part of her.

But the cry turned to a sob as his tongue began to glide over her length, fingers now grasping at his hair and tugging as sharply as her chest rose and fell. When the journey was through, he pressed a kiss to Issie, at the tip, smearing her wetness over his lips. She whimpered as Even’s tongue teased against her, and then his name filled the room again when he closed his mouth around her. 

Even moved deliberately, this was as new for him as it was for Issie. He needed to know which motions gave her the most pleasure, what things he needed to repeat. But the soft, slow movements seemed to be all she wanted or needed, focussed right where the sensation was the most intense. His tongue swept over her, circled her, as he gently sucked her shallowly into his mouth. 

He went to hold her in his hand, like he would grip himself, but he felt her fingers land lightly on his knuckles, and that was enough to tell him that was a sensation she didn't want to feel. Instead, she guided his hand to lay against her, his palm cupping her. It occurred to him that Issie probably liked to feel warmth and pressure flush against her. That thought sent images flooding his mind of him, naked, and laying between her legs, rocking against her body. He could kiss her then, as Issie's hands would grip to him. The daydream had him moaning onto her flesh. With that notion in mind, he began to pulse a light rhythm against her with his palm, to him it felt akin to a massage. She gasped when be began, making sure he was in time to the movements his mouth made. 

There wasn't a great deal of warning for what came next, except the firmness that was Issie's thighs suddenly hugging his face. Even was expecting, and looking forward to, drawing the experience out. He already adored the feel, scent and taste of her. But her body began to shake, both hands fisted in Even’s hair, and if it wasn't for the unrestrained groans of pleasure that Issie was making, he may have stopped to ask if she was OK. 

Wordlessly she urged him on and his palm firmed against her once more, as his tongue swirled, and then heat rushed into his mouth. His movements ebbed to a slow, in keeping with the sounds she made as the bliss spread through her.

When she tensed, a low giggle falling from her lips, he pulled away, moving back over her body and coming to rest on his elbow over her face—she was glowing, and Even couldn't help but grin. 

Her fingers were soothing now as she stroked them through his hair, catching her breath. Even reached out to push a wayward curl behind her forehead. 

“Are you OK?” he asked, voice low and rough as if he'd been the one calling out. 

And there was no doubt about that smile, it pulled at her lips in amusement. “Of course I am,” she whispered. “That was… something else.” And by the pleased expression she wore, it was a something  _ good _ . Hopefully better than good. 

“Good,” he sighed in relief. She was still mostly bare beneath him, and his mind cursed the breeches that were still clinging to him—tighter than usual as well. The thought of their skin touching, from head to toe, was maddening. But he smothered those thoughts. He didn't have expectations, not of her. Issie should be comfortable to do as she wish. “I suppose I should let you sleep?” he offered as she yawned, half of him was eager to be dismissed so he could temper his thoughts, yet the other half didn't ever want to leave the delight that was her company. 

But the frown sent his way was almost accusatory. “Why ever would I do that? Sleep when I have the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom right here, in my sleeping quarters?” she snickered. 

Even shook his head. “I wouldn't flatter any further, My Lady, I'm proud enough as it is.” 

“ _ Proud?”  _ she repeated, raising an eyebrow and tilting her chin up. Her body rolled beneath his, hips pushing harder to Even’s. “ _ Very _ proud indeed,” she added. 

He bit on his lower lip, trying to control himself. But Issie's mischievous and confident demeanour was quickly breaking him down as her fingers began to tease at his waistband. 

“You don't have to do anything,” he tried to assure, but her affronted frown was back. 

“I know I don't  _ have _ to do anything,” she hit back. A moment passed as she considered him, then—and with some skill that Even could not comprehend—he was flat on his back and she was sprawled over him, wearing a smirk that a lioness might make once it had caught its prey. That was fitting, Even surmised. “But I want to do…  _ something _ ,” she purred. 

Even licked his lips, his hands were resting on her waist. Issie’s weight felt right on him. “You do?” he asked, sounding surprised where he had intended to sound sure. 

“ _ My Lord, _ ” she teased. “You aren’t one of those men that think ladies cannot or should not do what men can?” She sat upright on him, weighing and measuring him—waiting for his reply. And just as beautiful in her disordered state as ever. 

“I am not; I believe in equality—for all,” he stuttered out because her fingers were trailing down his chest. When they reached his waistband, she began to unfasten the buttons, both deftly and with confidence.

“ _ Good… _ ”  

### 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the beginning, I did as much research as was possible, but I do not have a female penis (I would love to have one, but if I had one it would definitely be a male penis), and as of yet I've never given a non op trans woman head (which sucks... or more accurately does not). But my research showed that, just like anything, experiences varied. Do correct me if you think anything is amiss.


	4. Leave Taking

### Leave Taking

It was the sound of wheels over gravel that woke Even. It was somewhere far away, passed the netting and glass, through the bushes and flowers of the garden outside, all the way in the courtyard. Yet still it woke him.

Blinking, the environment that surrounded Even came back to him in a blissful wave. Issie’s hair was brushing against his cheek as she curled into his side. He could smell her, the flowery scent of her soap from the previous day alongside the sweat from the night before. The memories of what they had done only pulled the corners of his mouth up into a smile. This was new, and it may not be the proper thing, Even couldn’t imagine there being another way than this. It was pure and right.

Once those comforts swept over him, the carriage that had awoken him began to stir his mind with a troubled spoon. It was somebody leaving, the grey of false dawn was only just creeping lazily into the room. By his own reckoning, it couldn’t be past four in the morning. Who would be leaving by carriage at this time of the day without it being of some great import? Worries began to spur Even into action. If something was amiss, he needed to know.

Reluctantly, he eased from beneath Issie. He would be back as soon as he could, before she woke hopefully. But just in case she did…

Slipping on his shirt and undergarments, his eyes darted around the room. He couldn’t make out much in the pale light, but knowing Issie—despite not spending more than a few hours in her company—Even would imagine what he needed would be somewhere.

Easing from the bed, he stood to pull up his breeches and stuff his shirt into them. Eyeing the dresser, he decided that would be a good place to start his search. There were two small drawers at the very top of the tier. Once he’d reached the heavy piece of furniture—on light feet, he opened the drawer on the left to reveal a collection of vials and bottles alongside some washcloths. He slid it shut as soon as he could make the contents out—this was not what he needed. Easing the other small drawer open, he let himself smile. Notebooks and parchment were stacked in there, and not necessarily neatly either. But there were fine sticks of charcoal with a strip of leather binding them together. It wasn’t too much work to find a unused piece of parchment and loose one stick.

He made quick work of the note, the dull light making it virtually impossible to be overly elegant. But as he made his way back to the bed he caught a flash of orange on the floor; the flower he’d picked last night and failed to give to Issie. Stooping, his fingers plucked it from the breast pocket of his jacket, still crumpled on the floor where it had fallen, then he laid it carefully with the parchment on the pillow next to her. If she had to wake alone, let it be to something sweet.

Pulling away, Even couldn’t help his hand as it moved of its own accord to her face, thumb running over the smooth skin of her cheek. The motion gained a faint smile before Issie shifted, and her features became peaceful again in her slumber. It was difficult both tearing his gaze and himself away from the safe haven that was Issie’s bed, but he had a duty that wouldn’t disappear if he simply closed his eyes.

Picking up his shoes, he trod a light path to the doors and let himself out into the rose garden, closing them quietly behind him. The grey-blue, that seemed thick around him, was chill too, so he tugged on his boots and coat before trying to orientate his way back to the path that had brought him out here the day before. It wouldn’t be hard to find the servants stairs again.

And it wasn’t. Even was soon back at his own chambers, eerily enough without passing anyone on the way. Frowning, he let himself in and almost leapt right back out by the figure that lurched out of one of the chairs by his bedchamber window. After a startled moment, Even continued into the room and closed the door behind himself and waited for his surprised manservant to find is tongue.

“My Lord, everyone has been looking for you. We just this minute gave up, I was just resting my eyes. And your father— _The King_ is furious. No one knew where you were—”

The tumbled and panicked speech came to a halt as Even raised a hand. Magnus raked a hand through his hair and stifled a yawn, before his palms attempted to smooth over his wrinkled livery.

“Calm down and tell me what happened.”

Magnus frowned at him like he’d lost his mind. “It was the final feast day, you were supposed to make a speech before retiring.”

Speech? He’d completely forgotten about that. But even still, it wasn’t the end of the world. “That’s not a crime, so I forgot? I’ll address it at breakfast.”

Chewing his lip, Even’s manservant shook his head. There was more to it than that. “You don’t understand, your father took it as a great slight. Along with how absent you’ve been… he was _very_ upset.” Even wanted to laugh at the understatement that sounded, but he felt something more urgent was following. “And he ordered his things packed this night, he left for the capital.”

Tensing, Even expected that this didn’t imply great things for his own future. “He left for the capital already? Why so early?”

Magnus worked his mouth, obviously caught between his alignment to the crown and the man he’d worked alongside for years. “He said not to say a word—not that he said much, but I believe it is to arrange your marriage on your behalf. In his words: _you don’t seem to be doing it yourself_.”

“But he can’t—”

“Excuse me for interrupting, My Lord, but he is the King. He can.”

It was Even’s turn to be flustered and out of words. He had, at one point not even a day ago, been resigned to his father choosing, at will, a suitor on his behalf. But not now. “I won’t let him.”

With the statement made, Even made his way to the wardrobe housing his clothes. He could hear the way that Magnus was washing his hands in frustration, even if he could not see him. Letting his manservant simmer, Even plucked out some simpler attire that would be appropriate in the saddle.

“What will you do?” Magnus asked nervously, before adding, “ _My Lord_.”

Even glanced at him as he shrugged off his jacket. “I’m going to catch up with him, I shall be on horseback and he will be in the carriage—I heard it leave. So it shouldn’t be a hard task.” Magnus grimaced at that. “ _What_?”

“He left an hour ago on horseback, _despite_ my counsel contrary to his actions. His belongings, as well as the childrens’, were in the coach that just left. The Prince and Princess are to leave after breakfast, as are you.”

For a heartbeat, Even was still before shaking his head. “You shall go with the children, I’m leaving _now_.”

He sighed, defeated but still in a mood to argue with Even, in the diplomatic way that he went about it. “My Lord, it would be in awful taste not only for The King to leave without fanfare, but also yourself: The Heir. I cannot advise it.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to advise it,” he replied, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I will need a cloak for riding. It looks like it might rain.”

Hesitating, Magnus bounced from one foot to the other, no doubt overflowing with questions, doubts and advice. “I thought you were… _apathetic_ to this cause, My Lord. And if you had made yourself known a few hours ago, this might have all been avoided.”

“Things change, Fossy,” Even replied with a grin that brought a frown to Magnus’ face. “I wouldn’t change the evening even if I could.”

There was another thoughtful pause as Even moved to the washbasin. A quick wash would suffice, he would need a thorough soak when he arrived at the palace after the journey in any case. It would take most of the day.

“May I be so bold as to ask where you were?”

There was no title, the curiosity of Even’s manservant overwhelming him, back to days when they had been more friends than a dignitary and his aide. “You may,” Even replied, shooting a wink over his shoulder as he filled the basin. It would be cold water from a jug that had been sat here for more than a few hours, but it would have to do.

Magnus huffed an impatient sigh. “Where were you?”

Chewing his lip, he considered the question. There was no point in being coy at this point. “Falling in love.”

“With whom?” The reply was quick, but nonetheless drenched with shock. Even couldn’t blame him. But that information could only be revealed first once, and it had to be in front of his mother and father. That speech he was yet to finalise.

“I will have to continue this gossip at a later date, for now I need your help to get after my Father. And I have instructions to leave in my wake.”

Even watched as his friend’s mouth formed a tight line, impatient to know what he did not. But he nodded in agreement all the same.

“As you wish, My Lord.”

* * *

Orange. That was the first thing Issie saw as she opened her eyes. The petals of a flower in the height of its bloom, laying next to her on the pillow. Not just any flower, a marigold. It was slightly crumpled, but that did not diminish its beauty. She couldn't help but smile as the memories filtered back into her mind lazily. And then, almost at once, she had to stop them—hold them back for a another private time because they were too desirous to mull over whenever and wherever. They were precious.

Try as she might, it didn’t stop the lines his fingertips had traced on her body burn for recognition that it _had_ happened. She could feel his hands still, his lips and mouth on her body. Never questioning, just enveloping her in acceptance. It was an acceptance she never thought she would be granted. He’d kissed over her chest, adoring her where she’d otherwise felt inadequate, that warmth had only been spread over her skin, every inch made to feel like it was exactly how it should be.

Every moment of the previous day was dizzying, and it seemed quite likely that it had all been a dream. And she would have doubted herself if it weren’t for the fact she was laying naked as the day she was born beneath the covers, with no idea as to where her nightwear currently was.

She chewed her lip, trying not to laugh at how wonderful it felt to be so inappropriate with a man she had only just met—well, as adults in any case. No, she would have to think about something else, otherwise she would be overwhelmed with need again and Issie had no idea exactly where Even’s hands were at present.

They had been here though, placing the flower right next to her. She reached out for it and it was only then that she saw the parchment left on the pillow. Propping herself up on one elbow, she pulled it to her eagerly while twirling the orange bloom between thumb and forefinger of her free hand.

What was on the parchment only made her grin wider. It was simple really, but sweet. Elegant and long letters left the short message: _I will be back, Love E_. And underneath the words, what Issie could only assume, sat a lioness and a wolf, noses touching in a kiss.

It was silly really, she realised this, but it didn’t stop the butterflies swirling in her stomach. He would come back, back to her. As unsure as she had been yesterday, as unwilling as she had been to believe he could find interest in her, Even had proved her wrong. And now she owed Even her trust.

There was one knock on her door, the one made from solid oak that led further into the hold, rather than the garden. Scrambling to sit up, she arranged pillows at her back so the cool wood of her headboard wasn't pressed to her bare skin. Then Issie pulled the covers up to her chin, hiding the parchment in the process which she’d placed next to her on the bed.

“Come,” she called out.

Someone cleared their throat before entering the room. By the flushed face of her maid and the sidelong glance that was sent Issie’s way, perhaps some things had been overheard in the night. She couldn’t remember trying to moderate the noises that she made, and by the tightness in her throat, perhaps she had been sufficiently vocal about Even’s attention. But now Vilde made a beeline for the wash basin, with the jug of warm water in one hand and fresh white towels over the other arm.

“Good morning, My Lady,” she said, in a high musical voice. But there was no laughter there, she was not being mocked.

“Vilde,” Issie replied through a yawn. “How are you this morning?”

There was another small cough as Vilde cleared her throat. She was now busying herself with the clothing that must have been pushed to the floor last night. So that's where they'd gotten to…

“Did you sleep well?” Vilde asked, eyes darting to Issie for a heartbeat, her cheeks flushed again but the smile that was there was well meaning. But they couldn’t know whom it was in her rooms, or she no doubt would have had an ear full from everyone already, including the chefs infant child.

“Very well, thank you,” Issie said, smirking back.

Vilde stood, clothing bundled under one arm and the burgundy, silk cravat— that Even had apparently left behind— dangling from the other hand. “Its funny how clothes end up where they don't belong,” she said lightly, evidently very happy to play innocent in the matter. “Would you like me to take it to be laundered, My Lady?”

Issie shook her head. “You can leave it on the drawers.” She felt absolutely no embarrassment in wanting to keep a part of him. Perhaps she should feel some form of shame in this, but Issie rejected that notion. This was hers, for once. But she wasn't yet brave enough to ponder where exactly this was destined, logic and reason didn't pave them a promising future together.

“Of course,” Vilde murmured moving to do just that. “Your father wishes for you to join him for breakfast. I'll ready your clothes—”

A second knock came at the door before a voice followed through the slight gap that had been left by Vilde’s entrance. “I can help with that.” Issie knew who it was before the master of cloth had appeared, and the very obvious grin spread over his face spoke of the gossip that was certain to be spreading through Issie's serving men and women.

“ _Eskild_ ,” Issie greeted warmly. He'd been a firm supporter of hers, through all of her decisions, tailoring clothing that she felt more comfortable in, even if it wasn't exactly what she wanted to wear. But he was candid… _extremely_ candid, verging on crass at times. Which, when alone, was something Issie didn't mind indulging him in. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he said, with a tip of his head. He watched as Vilde bustled past him and waited until she’d closed the door behind her before he made his way to the bed, plopping himself in the space next to her. “I _hear_ you had an excitable evening, despite not going to the ball.”

She eyed him before responding, trying to keep her face as impassive as possible. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

His snorted laughter was as far from delicate as was possible. “I can play ignorant, but I would—hypothetically speaking—be thrilled of any—hypothetical—pleasure that you may or may not have found with someone… _hypothetically,_ of course _.”_

Issie's hand batted at him. “Stop it. That is extremely indiscreet of you.” But her face was flushing, there was only so much she could deny, sitting here in nothing but her skin.

“It's funny because, while you were here having… _night terrors_ , Prince Even was nowhere to be found,” he stated as if it was nothing before lounging on the bed next to Issie. He arched an eyebrow and waited for whatever response he'd earned.

And whatever response that was would have to wait until Issie had recovered from her shock. Instead of denial, because it was foolish to traverse that route when the stakes were so high, Issie blurted out the most important question. Because Eskild wouldn't assume, out loud at least, without complete conviction or evidence on his side. “Does anyone else know?” she asked in a low voice.

He shook his head. “I believe I was the only one to make the connection. Only your serving ladies are aware of your _excitable_ evening activities, and you _know_ they won't spread it around. They are loyal.”

“Good,” she added, relief clear in her tone. As much as she delighted in what they'd shared privately, Even’s intentions were unknown to her. She wouldn't want gossip to be spread about him, nor her for that matter. But his position was more precarious than Issie's, especially right now.  

“And you don't even try to deny it? Shameless hussy,” Eskild tsked, but relished in the news. “The Prince: seemingly untouchable by any maiden’s charm, except your own, Lady Valtersen. At least the man is not stupid.”

Issie tried to send a reprimanding look, but it was lost in the heat of the compliment. “I'm not so sure,” was all she could reply.

“Well, he is not a man of low intellect, from what I've heard and now seen.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean— _charms_. I'm not sure what it was, but I'm almost sure what it cannot be. And I will not be someone's secret.” Issie firmed her jaw on the statement. As much as the night had been something more than she'd ever dared hope for, she'd spent her whole life trying to live her truth. She wasn't about to start living a lie, waiting for the crumbs to drop from someone else's plate. No. As hard as it was for her to live in a body that felt like foreign territory, she wasn't about to start living in a completely foreign universe.

The look aimed at her was compassionate. “I would not let that happen, Issie. I will always defend your honour, and you deserve all the things your heart desires.”

The words set a pain in her chest. Whereas she'd always had wishes and hopes, now the fantasy wore a face. There was someone in the world that not only could she love with the passion bottled inside of her, but whom loved her back as unreservedly. At what cost?

“My desire has a name now,” she admitted quietly. There was a tone of defeat in her words that she couldn't belie.

“I know you're a fighter. So, even if you have no idea what to champion, fight to hold on to hope.” He said, reading her thoughts as clearly as if she'd spoken them.

“Blind hope?”

He shrugged. “You may be blind, but some of us may be less disadvantaged.” Eskild grinned at her, a look in his eye that hinted that he knew something she did not.

“ _What_? What do you know?” She demanded.

Her plea brought nothing but a telling gesture as Eskild brought one finger and placed it over his lips. “I do not know much, but I have been sworn to secrecy on it. It would be _treasonous_ to speak further on it.”

Issie huffed, crossing her hands across her chest. There was no use in getting anything out of him, as much as he seemed to know everything that was going on in the kingdom, when he had a secret it was as safe as dragon’s gold.

 _Treasonous_? Had Even spoken to him? “Have you seen him today?” She didn't need to specify whom.

But Eskild shook his head. “No. Apparently no one has because the Heir left in the early hours of the morning.”

Issie's stomach knotted in worry for many reasons, some entirely selfish, she admitted. Left? “ _Why_ ?— _Where is he going?_ ”

“The King departed before he, and they seem to be leading a merry chase to the capital. That is what I _hear_ , in any case.”

She worked her mouth, looking for words. Nothing for sure could be ascertained by that knowledge, and as much as she loved Eskild's advice, blind hope was something she couldn't buy into. “Is that all you know?”

Eskild nodded. “Except what everyone else knows: that he could not be found last night and it set the King off in a furious rage.” His lips twisted into a smile, apparently amused at the cacophony that has ensued. She should feel guilty, but it was hard to summon. “If I had _known_ I would have perhaps given you both fair warning. But I had no idea that he would have found himself into your rooms.” His smile didn't wane.

“It wasn't exactly planned,” she shot back, heat was in her cheeks again.

“No. But the best things usually are not. However, now you must sit tight and be patient,” he stated before frowning. “As must I.” It was mused in a fashion that indicated Eskild's dislike at not knowing all of the details. “But if I hear twitterings, you shall be the first to know.”

Issie nodded slowly. News moved fast from the capital, by road or wing. Even if it was on the back of trade, gossiping would undoubtedly occur and Eskild would be the first to catch on to those whispers. There was a reason that he gave council to many of the members of the Valtersen household, even if it was in the guise of harmless chit chat.

“Thank you, Eskild.”

“There’s no need for thanks, it’s all worthwhile to see you smile.” If she could not see the obvious pleasure on his face, simply from herself being happy, it could be heard in his voice. Something in that reassured her. “I suppose he gave you that?” Eskild asked, nodding to the flower still held between forefinger and thumb.

“He did,” she admitted.

“At least you have passed the pleasantries of favorite colours and such, before physically exerting yourselves. Some conversation was involved— _that_ warms my heart,” he snickered whilst enduring a hard glare from Issie.

She sniffed. “Actually, I never told him my favorite colour. Nor my favorite flower.” It was quite a perfect guess on Even’s behalf. The orange marigolds that bloomed outside her rooms had always been a source of inspiration. There were many lores told about the marigold, but one in particular told about strong passion and courage within the heart of a lion—as the marigold blooms it looked much like a lion’s mane. But Issie had long decided that there was nothing more feminine in strength and tenacity as a flower, so to have the nature of a female but being regarded a lion seemed to sing to her very soul. Issie now regarded them as small, beautiful and bright lionesses, who just so happened to possess a mane.

“So, there was even less talking than I have presumed? I’m surprised you even found out his name.” He was still chuckling, and Issie couldn’t help but join in. He leaned closer to her, beginning to whisper conspiratorially. “And was he a generous… _kisser_? It seems to be the only thing deliberated over in the corners of the hold these past few days. And I wouldn’t mind having an aloof answer to that question—for my own amusement.”

Shaking her head, Issie could just imagine Eskild dropping hints and walking away with a smug smile, leaving whomever to ponder over how on earth Eskild would know such things. The place would be abuzz with gossip, scaling from absurd to outright scandal. “It would be unladylike of me to kiss and tell, Eskild.”

“It would be unladylike to abscond with the heir to the throne at his own matchmaking ball, but here we are.” He spread his hands out in Issie’s direction to make a point, in case she didn’t understand his implications.

Issie cleared her throat. There was no harm in a small amount of gossip. “He was very… _generous._ And… gentle. _”_

If it was possible for such a thing to happen, Issie was sure Eskild was about to swoon. He sighed deeply before speaking. “Such a gentleman, and you deserve no less.”

Issie chewed her lip. What she deserved and what she was rewarded with might be two very different things. In fact, it was very likely that would be the case. But it would not help to mull over such things. “My father is expecting me, I should ready myself.”

Nodding, Eskild shifted from the bed and stood, walking over to a broad wardrobe. “You are right, and a certain Lady Ylva is excited to see you before she too departs for the capital. It appears you made quite an impression.”

“Ylva,” Issie repeated with a smile. That would be a pleasant breakfast. The girl had won her heart instantly, and if she was still here then perhaps Issie would get to meet Birk too.

Eskild opened the carved wooden door and rifled through the hangers before picking out a cream silk nightgown, then brought it back to the bed. She frowned at him, whilst fingering the parchment still hidden under the covers next to her. Some things she would keep to herself. “My father probably won’t be best pleased if I turn up in my nightclothes.”

“Before I ready you,” he said, his free hand pulling out a tape measure from his pocket, “I need to take some measurements.”

Her frown only deepend. “For what?” It wasn’t like she was due a new wardrobe anytime soon, unless her parents had some awful attempts at matching her with a suitor—again. She thought they had given up on that along with her once they’d seen the stock of middle aged and odd lordlings that were an option for Issie. Luckily it seemed that no one was intending to force her either—not that they would dare.

But Eskild only continued to smile in that knowing way. “I’m not to say.”


	5. Waiting

### Waiting

“And you see,” Even continued, “You must hold the branches very loosely so that it may move in your hands.”

Birk blinked at him before looking down at the V shaped twig that was clutched in his small fists. Ylva watched on from the lip of the fountain; the focal point in the green sprawling space that was at the very centre of the palace. It was nothing compared to the Rose Gardens at the Valtersen hold, but they were right in the midst of the capital, thus space and peace was sacrificed. In her hands was clutched her bow, a quiver slung by her feet full of arrows. Adding that to the wild way her hair stuck up at all angles, and the dust on her skirts, it was safe to say she’d just finished practise.

“ _Dis_?” Birk asked, holding the stick out in front of him so the point of the V thrust forward like an arrow. He shook it a little and it moved freely.

“Exactly,” Even impressed with a smile at his nephew. Birk grinned back. “Now if you walk slowly, and the stick pulls down, then you have found water.”

Birk frowned before looking at his feet. “No wader,” he stated firmly.

“No, not _there_ , but you may find some. An underground spring.”

The look that his small nephew cast him was full of doubt, one you might grace someone not entirely in grasp of all of their wits. Even couldn’t help but chuckle. But Birk nodded, putting doubts aside, and began to waddle the grounds very slowly. It was very unlikely there would be a spring underground here, Even had never found one in any case. But stranger things had happened.

Leaning back on the marble bench Even had chosen in the shade of some apple trees, he watched the child on his galant mission of water finding, all the while knowing full well a very keen pair of eyes were watching him.

Sighing impatiently, he waited for his niece to grow tired of the stand-off and come and talk to him. But he felt waiting was all he had been doing since he arrived yesterday. His father had refused to see him and Even was informed he would be sent for when The King was ready to instruct him. Instruct him? Those were the exact words Magnus had fumbled over when passing on the message. Even knew better than to press his father when his anger was this intense, his mother would always smooth things over. But eagerness was biting at him too, he wanted to speak with him before something altogether drastic was done that would need to be undone— with potential embarrassment for the entire family. His speech was more or less finalised in his head. If he wasn’t summoned before the sun touched the horizon, Even would descend upon his parents, whether they wished it of him or not.

“And so you ran away?”

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that Even had missed Ylva’s ire win the war, the ground between them had been traversed without his knowledge and she plopped in the seat next to him, trying in vein to dust off her skirts. Her jaw firmed and she shot him a withering and judging look.

“I did not run away,” he scoffed, pushing gently at her shoulder with one large hand. But her face didn’t soften.

“The Lady Issie was exceedingly quiet when last I saw her, and she wore a brave face but looked heartbroken when we left. And I will have you know that Birk sat squarely on her lap and did not leave that spot for the entire meal. Birk never sits on anyone contentedly for more than five minutes—you _know_ that,” she impressed. Her hard expression was quickly turning to one of quiet desperation as the words tumbled from her.

“He did? I would have liked to have been there,” he said through his smile. It sounded quite the picture. Except Issie saying farewell whilst holding a broken heart. If the lady hadn’t quite fallen in love with Even, she had certainly fallen in love with Ylva. Somehow that meant more to him.

“Why weren’t you?” she asked hotly. The expression was petulant now.

“I had to come after your grandfather before he commits folly on my behalf.”

She scanned his face looking bemused. “Did you meet her? In the garden? At midnight?” The questions jolting out of her hurriedly and in that false whisper that always amused Even.

“Sweet Ylva, some things are not meant to be gossiped about.”

She sniffed haughtily, tipping her chin in the air. “I wasn’t asking for details, Uncle. I just wanted to know if you had met, and I believe I just got my answer.” A grin split her face, excitement overtaking any other emotion. She was a whirlwind encapsulated in a very small body. “And so? Will you marry her? I cannot imagine you with anyone else. She is _perfect_ for you.”

Even wanted to laugh at her innocence, and a simplicity of thought he hoped more people shared. “It is not quite so straightforward,” he admitted with a sigh.

“She loves you, I can tell. When I spoke about you at breakfast she blushed, it was so endearing. And her eyes seemed to sparkle, just like princesses in the stories. She won’t say no, Uncle. You must ask her.” She’d turned to him now, closing the distance between them and near enough ending up in his lap for all her enthusiasm.

Even reached out to her, fingers pushing a dark, wild curl behind her ear, trying to enjoy the excitement that he could see in his niece for the love that he was feeling for someone. He wished he could be quite so excited, but there was duty to overcome first. “She is not the only person who must agree, Ylva,” he said quietly.

Her golden eyes widened in confusion, a crease appearing in her brow where she furrowed them. “But who would stop true love?” She asked quietly, almost horrified at the notion that this would be squandered by someone. For all her cunning and intellect that was beyond her years, she was still so wonderfully pure. He wanted to keep her that way as long as possible, but she wouldn’t drop this until she had her answer.

Even took a deep breath, searching for the words to explain the predicament, but before anything materialised, someone cleared their throat at his back.

“My Lord,” Magnus began, Even and Ylva turning to the newcomer. “My Lady,” he added with a bow. Then he directed his attention to Even. “The King and Queen would see you now.” It was said solemnly. Nerves, no doubt, in his manservant that were reflected in Even, his own stomach twisting in knots now that the point had been reached. He would have his answer soon enough, he would know his future.

Nodding at Magnus, Even turned back to his niece. “You will watch your brother until I get back?”

She nodded once. “And then we can talk more?”

“We can,” Even assured. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a great deal to discuss, and only a need to celebrate. He hoped Ylva would be happy with the plan he had in mind, because it would affect her too if his pitch was accepted.

“Wader! Found wader!” Birk called out delightedly from across the grass. Even looked up to see him splashing his hands, and the finding stick, happily into the pool beneath the water fountain.

Ylva was up on her feet, giggling as she crossed the ground towards her brother, skirts gripped in her fists and held high enough to reveal she was in fact barefoot. Even sighed; completely wild and utterly wonderful. “Yes you did, you clever boy,” she cooed when she reached him.

Standing, Even turned his back on his niece and nephew and let out a long held breath as he faced Magnus. “Shall we?”

The walk down the cool hall was longer than it should have been, and quieter than necessary. Every footfall seemed unnaturally loud and echoed how hard Even’s heart was beating in his chest.

And then they seemed to reach the great doors to his parents’ audience room too quickly, like time had slowed and sped up. He took a deep breath, Magnus reached out to squeeze his shoulder in solidarity.

“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly, and in a tone that said he was speaking as a friend.

Even nodded. “I hope so,” he murmured before nodding to the doormen. Magnus’ gesture of reassurance was gone and the doors, taller than Even twice over, were opened.

Holding his chin high, he strode purposefully into the room with Magnus at his heels. It boasted high, arched ceilings and gold leaf covered most surfaces, narrow windows of painted glass mirrored each other on either opposing wall. It was meant to be grand, imposing, and intimidating to those that entered, and the look was finished off by the pair of tall thrones at the end of the hall. It wasn’t a large hall, not one for entertaining, but strictly for holding discussions of state. It could possibly cater for fifty people seated in total, but that didn’t diminish the daunting feeling of the room; it only contributed to the claustrophobia. There were three steps up to the throne platform so you were always looking up to the seated monarch, and the wall to your back was decorated with grandiose portraits of those that had held the throne—great and powerful men and women of the past. All in all, you would usually do all you could to get out of here in one piece and as quickly as possible. Even tried to stave off the effect he’d seen that it’d had over countless members of state in the past.

Coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, Even bowed firstly to his mother and then his father. His hands were clasped tightly at his back and he counted his breaths carefully; he needed to be composed and unaffected. “Mother, Father,” he said. The calm in his voice surprised even him.

His mother, red-gold curls held up in a hair net set with blue stones that matched her eyes, gave him a soft smile. That at least was a relief. But the yellow eyes of his father were hard as they bored into him. His dark hair was streaked with grey now, and swept back from his face. Thankfully, apart from the three of them, there were only the men at the door, Magnus, and a serving man on either side of his parents. Even had been nervous there would be more here to witness whatever dressing down he was due.

“Son, I do not understand why you have handled this process with such flippancy, and now you act like there is a war to fight between us—” his father began with a passion that had most certainly been bottled up. But there was more frustration than anger in his voice. That was something, Even supposed. His words came to a halt as the graceful fingers of his mother came to rest on his wrist. The look the King aimed at his wife could have been abashed. They had probably already discussed what was to be said and how.  

“I am sure there is no war to speak of here,” she began carefully before turning her gaze on Even. “Isn’t that so, Son?”

He nodded. There wasn’t. “It was just urgent that we speak.”

“Urgent?” His father repeated, not entirely reigned in by his wife. “Even, I don’t understand. We have been patient for so long, given you time. You have not taken this seriously, knowing full well what is at stake. I am right to feel that you took no interest in your future spouse, whomever she might be. And now this is urgent? Did you think it was a game?”

His mother sighed quietly, resigning herself to the fact her husband just could not be stopped when he needed to get something off his chest. But the King was right, Even conceded that. “You are right to feel that way, but life can change in just one moment.”

There was a quiet between them and the air seemed to crackle with tension. “And perhaps it is too late for a change, son.” His father stated.

Even shook his head. That couldn’t be the case, he wouldn’t let it. Whatever had been done could be undone, if only his father had just seen him yesterday when Even had arrived within the same hour as himself. But stubbornness was a quality they both shared, they would see whose streak was the strongest.

“It can’t be.”

“Oh, is that so?” his father huffed indignantly at the challenge.

“I have found someone. Someone whom I wish to marry, someone who loves your grandchildren and whom love her in return. Someone brave and witty, intelligent and resourceful.”

The King and Queen both shared a sceptical look. Perhaps they had expected an effort of diversion from him, something to postpone the inevitable. “How is that so, Even? I hear you were hardly present at the feasting and merriment?”

Of course she would have heard all about the events at The Valtersen’s hold from her father, although she herself had remained behind. At this time of year there was too much housekeeping to oversee with harvesting and trade. There were people employed to to do the accounting, but the King or Queen needed to be present to sign off whatever required approving, and simply be present during the proceedings. Even’s mother always had a better head for numbers than his father, and so that had decided that.

“That is true, and I apologise for any duties that I may have dropped.” His father snorted a disgruntled laugh to show how much of an understatement he thought that sentiment was. “But I did meet someone.”

There was another long pause before his father sat up in his seat, impatience winning the fight over who would speak first. “Well, who is it, Even? Speak up,” he urged.

Even took another deep breath. “The Lady Valtersen.”

His parents shared a baffled look, but they did not seem displeased. After all, the Valtersen’s had been fast friends of Even’s family for generations. Making that connection between the two houses was a positive thing—it was one point that Even was relying on in his argument.

It was his mother that spoke up first, her tone seasoned with some amusement. “Which one dear? There are five of them.”

“Six,” Even corrected.

“Six?” The King repeated, furrowing his brow in confusion. The Queen, however, only blinked; her face remained too placid to be entirely ignorant. Of course she probably would be more attuned to these matters of their neighbouring household. Had the Countess discussed the matter directly with his mother?

“So, which of the _six_ , Even?” she asked softly, his father still looking bewildered.

“Isabella.” The word was released on a heavy breath, but it still felt sweet on his tongue. It was the first time he'd said her name since he'd left, but it felt right in his mouth. And so it was said. He gathered himself, standing taller and prouder than before. Courage descended on him with that one word.

The King repeated the name, the confusion that had him fast not relinquishing its grip. But by the nearly silent gasp that left his mother's lips, he knew she understood. Her hand squeezed the King’s arm where she'd already laid her hand.

“The youngest, My Love,” she offered quietly.

“But the youngest is—”

“Isabella, dear.”  

The King’s jaw dropped as the realisation descended on him and he stilled, eyes glued to his wife. He would have been aware of Isabella, it just hadn't taken priority in their stay with the Valtersens. Now he was evidently catching up to what was being said. She nodded once, before turning to her son with a smile.

“Even, you understand the complications in what you're proposing?”

All he could do was nod. He knew. “I do.”

“But you can't,” his father cut off, sputtering, “there would be no Heir.” He turned to the Queen. “There are matches we could make that would guarantee succession—like we've discussed, we've already started to draw up the proposals. But this—”

The King’s words came to a halt with one slight and elegant arch of the Queen’s eyebrow. “Your Highness,” she emphasised, smothering his flustered state with calm, “Why don't we listen to what our son has to say. He is aware of his position.”

Whatever grace his mother had bestowed evaporated when both pairs of eyes landed on him. He swallowed and licked his lips before fumbling to find the beginning of the speech he had mapped out.

“There is already an Heir—other than me. More suitable than I could ever hope to be. And she is outside watching her brother in the quadrant.”

The hall was quiet, and Even was sure that if a pin was dropped somewhere in the palace, he would have not only heard it but have been able to guess it's exact location.

The Queen cleared her throat but it was the King who spoke first. “So you would shirk your responsibilities to the throne? To your family?”

“No,” Even cut in firmly. “No. I wouldn't, but this was robbed from her. Ylva was destined to hold the throne—it's in her blood. You can see that, just like Brenna.”

“Don't bring your sister into this, Even,” his Father refuted. “Don't try to bring emotion where there is plain and simple duty to be done.”

“It was never my place,” Even argued back. “It was never meant for me.”

The King bored holes into him, but for the moment he had nothing to rebuff. There was no arguing that Ylva wasn't better suited to ruling a nation—not that Even wouldn't have tried his hardest. But this seemed common sense.

“Even,” his mother interrupted in a voice of gentle seriousness that only she could master. “Our succession is set up in such a way for a reason. We cannot place so much pressure on children, not when their futures are more vulnerable than a grown man or woman.” It was true, it had been set this way to give greater stability to the kingdom. Children were easier targets for anyone with ill meaning to the throne or country, as well as prone to childhood diseases that they would succumb to easier than an adult. There’d been succession wars waged over child heirs, where they had been manipulated or assassinated. Thus the laws had been changed centuries prior, that the succession line was passed to the eldest sibling of sound mind, where they existed, when the Heir apparent, or ruler, passed without children or whilst the children were underage.

“I understand that, but surely Ylva will be spared hardship. You have the health and beauty of maidens half your age, Mother, and I believe Father will live an unnaturally long life simply to spite Death himself—”

“This is not the time for jokes, Even,” the King interceded. The Queen however held her face too still, she was holding back her mirth.

“Quite right,” Even replied, ducking his head to his father. “But my point is, we are at peace, Ylva is in good health, as are we all. If anything were to happen to you both before she is of age, then I shall act as caretaker to the throne. But she should be Queen in due course.” They continued to stare at him, but there was no refusal vocalised. “And you are the only two who can make it right.”

“Laws are not meant to be changed lightly,” his mother said. But there seemed to be a look of consideration on her face. “And past that, if we allow you to follow your heart, it is still an irregular choice. It will be spoken about, Even.” She eyed him now, there was no judgment on her behalf, it was simply to put forward the predicament that would inevitably face them, to see if Even had considered it and whether he would be willing to not only acknowledge it, but to stand against it.

“I know,” he said simply. “What people think has never mattered to me, I've found someone whom truly intrigues, mystifies, and beguiles me. I would die for her honour.”

His mother scanned him over as if seeing him for the first time, the corners of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile that she couldn't repress.

“Eira, we have already set plans in motion—” Even’s father’s attention was on the Queen, and he was stirred enough to use her first name with company present.

“Stian,” she replied, cutting him short with his own name and using it as a gentle warning. “Plans that we needed to discuss with Even first, is that not correct?”  

“We should do things as they are meant to be done,” the King retorted.

Even couldn't see his mother's face, but by the way his father shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he would prefer not to be on the receiving end of the glare.

“Is that right, husband? Like how—some years back—the future heir met and fell madly in love with a country gentleman? And was granted clemency to marry whom her heart had decided upon?”

Even almost choked on absolutely nothing at all. It was no secret that his own parents had themselves had a mismatched marriage, but it was rarely brought up as a topic for discussion. Of all the hard words that had needed to be said in the last twenty minutes, this was the point Even itched to be away.

The King sighed heavily, the wood of his throne creaking as he relaxed. “Even,” he said, and softly for the first time.

Even lifted his eyes from their intent study of his mother’s velvet slippers. They were new he thought, and the gold offset the dark blue of her skirts perfectly. He found his father’s golden eyes on him, scanning him now with consideration rather than ire. His own garments the same hue as the Queen’s dress.

“Yes, Father.”

“You have been brave bringing this to us, in a mostly mature manner.”

Nodding, Even couldn't help but hold his breath waiting for judgment. But as the moment stretched out, he felt the need to be clear. “I apologise for the strain I have put you both under. And I was willing to go as you directed, but you must understand that I cannot follow that path any longer. I do not wish to live without my heart.” It was a strong sentiment considering how little time he'd spent with Issie, but he'd never been so sure about anything in his life, not even the fact that the sun would rise every morning to set every night.

He maintained eye contact with the King, but Even was sure he could see his mother’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

“Your mother and I have things to discuss, you understand?”

“I do,” Even replied.

“And do not speak to Ylva yet, until we have come to a conclusion. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly.”

One last lingering silence stretched out before his father nodded. “We will summon you, when we have come to a conclusion. Go and eat, please, Magnus tells me you've barely touched anything since you arrived home yesterday.”

Even smoothed his hands over his stomach, feeling the butterflies begin to swarm and swirl, spurred on by an unstoppable hope. “I have not had an appetite,” Even admitted.

And for the first time his father laughed. “Well, if I doubted your heartfelt confession up until this moment, _that_ would be undeniable evidence to prove your claims; a man without an appetite is surely at the mercy of love.”

Even felt his cheeks warm. His father had never spoken to him about such things before, not so openly. But before he could find anything to say, his mother cut in.

“Or woman,” she corrected.

“Is that correct, my love? Did you suffer a lack of appetite when we met?” he asked, distracted in the endearing way Even’s father was still so easily put off course just by the presence of his wife.

The Queen pursed her lips thoughtfully. “And would your ego like to hear the truth or be soothed?”

Even bowed deeply to his parents, wanting to be away before any teasing became uncomfortable to witness. “I shall do as you ask, Father. I will be in my quarters bathing and eating when you wish to send for me.”

But the least that could be said was there was a marked change in the atmosphere from when he had entered, to his hasty retreat with a gobsmacked Magnus at his side.

Hope and faith sizzled in equal quantities inside of him that a decision would be made in everyone's favour and that it would be made swiftly.

* * *

The birds out among the roses made as much useless noise as the maids at her back. Oh, they were hidden somewhere behind tall bushes, hanging laundry, but their voices carried easily over the crystal clear space between them and Issie.

“Do you know when it'll be?”

“I have no idea, but it sounded rushed. But it makes sense, both of then tore out of here in the dead of night— not even a bye or leave. Can you imagine?”

The other hummed and there was a sound of linens being shook out. “I suppose the King and the heir can do as they please.”

“Well, I heard the Prince went missing with someone, and when the King found out he went into a rage, and that he swore to marry him off to the ugliest lady he could find.”

There was laughter now, twittering just like the birds. At least the birds had some sense of business to be about with, out fetching worms and insects for the babies filling their nests.

“Do we know who the Prince went missing with?”

“I've no idea. Someone seems to think it’s Eskild.”

There was a sound of cotton ripping which was in fact a snort. “No? That one has his fingers in far too many pies. And what a scandal that would be? The Valtersen master of cloth?”

“It would explain why the King was so furious to flee in the night.”

They both made a sound like they had solved every world problem with their gossiping. “So there are arrangements for a celebration? It must be the wedding.”

“Whichever lucky soul gets that role. But isn't he a dream?”

That was about as much as Issie could bear. She'd come outside so she didn't feel like a caged canary, down in some far distant crevice of the land, waiting for the toxic news that would drift to her and no doubt snuff her out. It was torturous.

Snapping her book shut, she slid smoothly from the low limb of the oak that sprawled in the heart of the rose garden. It was no good. Inside or out, she would find no respite. Her heeled boots made a quick path to her rooms, where she shut out the incessant noise and flopped onto her bed with a sigh.  

Four days. Four days and nothing, not only from Even but Eskild too. And it was quite apparent word was reaching them of events.

She lay motionless, book clasped to her chest as she stared at the canopy of her bed, trying to stave off the defeated feeling that had only grown with every tick of the second hand. Closing her eyes, she tried to deny the tears that were welling, but an unruly one broke through the defences, making a path down her temple and quickly escaping into her hairline. A second found the weakness in her armour, mirroring that first tear streak.

It had been too much to hope for, Issie knew this was never going to be an ending like in the stories. And yet still, besides her better judgment, she'd let herself hope without even realising it. Hope for what, she wasn't sure. Perhaps just one more night of him, but that was now forsaken to her. As much as she'd betrayed herself so far, that was one thing she wouldn't waiver.

Isabella Valtersen was not made to be a secret.

She felt her lip tremble and was just about ready to give into her self pity, and allow the emotions multiplying her chest to spill from her, when there was an urgent knock at the door. Sitting quickly, she wiped at the tears that had spilled to mask their existence before placing her book on the bedside table. The drawer was opened a crack and she shut it, her fingers stilling in the wood for a moment. That was where she’d kept his note, and she would look at it often through the day, bringing daydreams and useless smiles to her. She should move it later, so it was somewhere out of mind.

The drawer clinked shut at the same time she called out, with perhaps a pinch too much irritation in her voice. “Come.”

It was Eskild that entered the room with a bow and a grin. His jovialness only irritated her further as she set her jaw.

“My Lady—” he began, but he didn’t have a chance to really get going on what he wanted to say because Issie was on her feet.

“There is no use in spreading gossip, I have already heard my fill for the day,” she stated, trying to look disinterested as she absentmindedly brushed off her breeches.

“Gossip?”

“Yes, the maids are all twittering about a big celebration in the capital, which can only be the Prince’s impending nuptials to whichever Lady-Vapid-Whom-So-Ever. And I hear that it is you whom has taken credit for the Prince’s disappearance that night, and I’m sure you are just thrilled about that.” Issie stared Eskild down, whom didn’t have the decency to look abashed, simply amused by Issie’s outburst.

“I cannot control the assumptions people make,” he replied with a shrug.

Issie sniffed. “And you feel no duty to set them straight?”

“And betray your trust? Issie, I would rather them gossip over a thousand things and not know which is which than to discover your secrets before you are willing to present them—if you so choose to.” His voice was calm, he was too calm overall, but he still had that gleam in his eye that shouted he knew something that she did not. And she was powerless against the way that fed into her anger.

“And you didn’t tell me about the celebration? I know you know. Did you think I would break at the news?” She snorted derisively. “I would not bat an eyelid at those facts. I have quite so forgotten the gentleman who was in my room a few nights ago.” Tilting her chin up. Issie tried to make her claim as believable as possible, she tried to smother the infuriating way her emotions toiled and she had no control over. “It was all as forgetful as a daydream—and as useful as one,” she added for good measure.

Eskild crossed his arms across his chest and pursed his lips thoughtfully before arching an eyebrow. Evidently her protests had not been bought by him. “A daydream?”

“Yes, a silly notion for children,” she snapped.

And if the way his mouth quirked had anything to say about his expression, it foretold of a laugh that he was holding back. It was a good thing that he did hold it back because Issie was quite an accurate shot, and the book on her bedside table was not far from hand. But when he opened his mouth to speak it was quite some change of subject that followed.

“Have you washed this morning, My Lady?”

She hesitated. Wash? Why? “Of course I have, Vilde ran me a bath after breakfast, not two hours ago.”

Eskild approached her, looking at her in a scrutinising way, before fiddling with her hair. “She did your hair too, that’s good,” he added absentmindedly.

“Good? Why? I have no plans—”

“Plans have happened to you, it would seem. Come we have no time.” And with that he led the way out of her room and Issie had no choice but to follow.

“Plans? What plans?”

He turned to shoot her a smirk as they walked into the dressing room that she shared with her sisters when they were at home. “But my dear Issie, I thought you'd enough of gossip for one day?”

They stopped in the middle of the room and Eskild clasped his hands together. It was only then that Issie realised there were trunks in here that she had not seen before. What was going on? A few of her maids were already here, including Vilde, and they were busy pulling beautiful long skirts and petticoats from the foreign trunks, shaking them out and fingering the material with wistful sighs.

“Whose things are these?” she began, but Eskild was already shaking his head. Perhaps she had been too free with her tongue. He could be as antagonistic as he thought appropriate and still stay within protocol.

“There is no time for idle chit-chat, My Lady,” he replied, rounding on her and beginning to unbutton the deep green coat Issie had chosen to wear that day. “We have to get you ready.”

“Ready for what?” she asked numbly. But Eskild didn’t answer, simply slid the jacket from her shoulders and folded it neatly.

“Vilde, would you begin to ready the clothing I chose?”

“Of course,” she replied happily, moving with the other ladies to a dress that had been hung on a rail. It was a pale grey silk with white trim and lace around the collar, the skirts were slashed with white too, but fine sky blue and gold embroidery adorned the sleeves, bust, and the dainty belted waist. It was in the Valtersen house colours.

Issie stood open mouthed eyeing the dress whilst her shirt was being unbuttoned. “Eskild, what is going on?” she asked quietly, tremors in her voice that spoke of her nerves.

“It is important that you feel the Lady that you are,” he murmured, absentmindedly, frowning at the loose vest that Issie wore beneath her shirt. “Underthings. Don’t forget the underthings, Vilde. In that chest,” he called over his shoulder, nodding to a smaller trunk. The lid was already open and Issie could see a multitude of colours within.

“Underthings?” she repeated, knowing she sounded like one of those vapid girls that she would roll her eyes at. But she was finding it difficult to articulate a thought, let alone a sentence.

Eskild grinned at her. “Yes, underthings; silk, lace, and absolutely scandalous.”

Issie swallowed, watching as one of the women shook out a dainty petticoat and another freed the lacing on its matching corset. “Eskild—” she began, licking her lips nervously. “My parents won’t appreciate this.” She was sure they would not, it had been hard enough to have the suits tailored in the design she felt comfortable in, and wheedle nightdresses into the bargain. Issie was sure she had Eskild to thank for persuasion there as well. These seemed too much, too far for them to allow. And for what? Why now?

“Nonsense, I’m sure they will be enamoured with the sight of you. Clothing almost as beautiful as you are yourself.” Her vest was gone and the petticoat was being pulled over her head, hands at every side of her, garments everywhere, and a flurry of motion and excitement as they helped dress her in this new attire.

“But why?” Her nerves were giving into fear. “Are they trying to match me with someone again? I told them, I made myself very clear, that I would not be passed off in some odd, miss matched betrothal. If they think for one minute—”

Eskild stood and held her gaze, his own expression calm. “My Lady, that is not the case. I would never be a party to that. Can you please just trust your guru?”

Hesitating, Issie wanted to ask more but she didn’t know where to start. Eskild was holding back for whatever reason, and she knew full well once he’d started on that course, he couldn’t be deterred. She should have held her tongue a few minutes ago, instead of running wild with her emotions. Issie would trust him, she always did.

Stockings were slid expertly up one leg and then the other and then the corset was pulled down over the petticoat. She had no choice but to go with this. Her fingers glanced down her stomach, over the fine boning and smooth material of her new attire. Issie let a small spark of excitement ignite in her gut. That was before the air was pushed from her lungs when two of her serving maids began to tug on the laces. This was part of the bargain she supposed.

“I trust you,” she managed, rather breathlessly. “But won’t you tell me more? Please?” she urged.

“Sometimes surprises are a wonderful thing, don’t you think? Even if they are akin to a daydream. Patience is a virtue.”

“A daydream?” He was using her own words against her, and in a way as to tease.

“Yes. But we have work to do, I must focus. Enough of the gossip, Issie. Be a good Lady and let us ready you. Vilde, where are the combs? We need something in her hair. I don’t think we will need powders, her skin is as good as a babe’s. Maybe some lip tint? Nothing too bright though…”

The instructions carried on, and all Issie could do was allow herself to be tugged around and told to put this arm out, or hold that foot up, or stay statue still while her hair was gathered and arranged, at the mercy of the master of cloth.

Trust, hope, despair, and frustration, they all made a merry dance in her mind.

All she could do was wait for the mystery to reveal itself to her. That and try and enjoy the first time she was adorned in the way she’d desired for as long as she could remember. She was beginning to feel just like a princess from the stories.


	6. Oaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the final chapter, and again if you see anything that you think I need to correct, do please just let me know <3

###  Oaths

Try as she might, the butterflies would not still in her stomach, no matter how she pushed her palms flat to her tummy. Luckily, she was seated on the lower dais, her parents already positioned in their House Seats on the upper level. If Issie had been standing she was sure a fainting spell would have taken her already; it was warm and the air close in their main audience chamber, alongside her nerves and the snuggly fitted corset, her head was beginning to spin. But, to contrast that, her feet had never been so comfortable in the light slippers she now wore. Sure, they would be useless for climbing trees, but they were easy to slip off too. Climbing was always easier barefoot. 

As it was, all she could do was concentrate on breathing slowly and trying to ignore the questioning gazes that kept coming to rest on her like snowflakes in a winter storm. She’d stridden into the room, everything outwardly giving the appearance that nothing was amiss, her chin tilted high. Issie wasn’t sure what she had expected by way of a reaction from her parents, but it hadn’t been the somewhat relieved smile that her father gave her, nor the wet and wide eyed glances her mother spared her. They seemed  _ happy _ . 

Still, no one had informed Issie about why her presence was required. With that reminder, she huffed a sigh into the stillness of the hall and began to tap her nails on the wood impatiently. Whoever was keeping everyone sweating in their best attire had better be worth the wait. Servants shifted in their places around the hall and the summer breeze was oddly ominous, the glass doors and windows all thrown open to let in the sounds of the gardens. 

And, as if her thoughts had commanded the universe, she could hear sets of footsteps echoing down the broad corridor that led to the audience chamber. Everyone seemed to sit or stand taller, and Issie’s heart wanted to beat out of her chest. Her fingers gripped the arms of her chair as the doormen swung open the heavy doors, and a trickle of sweat made its way between her shoulder blades. 

In walked a tall serving man, floppy strawberry blonde hair quickly swept away from his face. He was in livery of burgundy and gold, and there was only one house that boasted those: The Royal Family. Issie’s short and rapid breaths stilled as she waited for the man to finish his deep and graceful bow to her parents, only a few paces inside of the room. Coming to a stop, he cleared his throat. 

“Duke and Duchess Valtersen, The Prince Even,” he stated simply. An accurate but succinct introduction. Usually he would be addressed as the Heir apparent, but Issie wasn’t focussed on that point. Infact, she wasn’t focussed on anything other than the shock of it all.  _ Even _ ? 

But nothing could prepare her for his entrance, striding in on his manservant’s heel with complete focus and hands clasped behind his back. His hair was still held back by a leather cord from riding, and despite not stopping to refresh themselves on their arrival—which was apparent from the travel dust on both men’s clothing—Even looked heart stoppingly beautiful. She’d started to tell herself the images she held in her dreams must be rose tinted. But his presence proved otherwise.  

Long and elegant, wearing suitable riding clothes in his house colours with detailed gold embroidery on the lapels and sleeves. And, really, he didn't need any more help to look the most grandiose in the room. Her lungs pled for breath and she remembered to inhale, all while silently upbraiding herself for reacting in such a cliched manner. But when she laid eyes on him out in the garden, whilst cloud spotting with Ylva, she'd decided he was the most beautiful man her eyes had ever settled upon. It had been exceedingly hard then to not turn goose brained. Matters had not improved when she'd found out who he was. 

But she would not fawn. Not  _ publicly _ in any case. 

Even’s approach was quick, and he bowed his head to her mother and father before his eyes found her. And if she hadn't been so taken with the sight of him, she would have relished the way his eyes travelled her approvingly, his mouth slightly ajar, and momentarily flustered by her appearance. After a heartbeat, he grinned at her and she had to drop her gaze to her lap otherwise she would be beaming like a fool in front of the small audience present. 

It was still a mystery as to why he was here.

“Aunt, Uncle,” Even began after clearing his throat. “Sorry to descend without much warning, but it was important.” He edged closer to the dais, flushed with the ride and excitement. 

“We had fair warning by way of wing, nephew,” Issie's mum answered. It looked like everyone was privy to this development excepting her. 

“It arrived this morning,” her father added. “Just to indulge us in the reasoning as to why you're visiting.” He stopped to clear his throat in the way that meant he was organising his thoughts. “But we've kept the knowledge between us—myself and the Duchess—leaving the rest to you.” 

Issie didn't need to look over her shoulder to know her parents attention was divided between Even and herself, she could feel their eyes hot on her back. There was suddenly a nervous scent to the room and it wasn't just coming from her. What were they trying to spring? 

Stealing herself, she looked up to where Even stood, his eyes were on her parents again leasing her the ability to breathe steadily. 

“And I have your permission to ask?” His voice was strong as he directed the question. 

There was a moment of still before her mother answered. “Nothing would give us more joy.” 

Issie didn't realise her grip on the chair was with such strength her knuckles were white. Her subconscious screamed to her what this was, but she wanted to reject it, because it seemed so unlikely. And if this was happening, she would surely wake at any moment. 

Then his eyes were on her and he bowed, lower than was necessary or correct given their stations. But his gaze was locked to her face and she couldn't look away. 

“My Lady,” he began. That was also not quite right, she was in no position to be his lady—not as matters stood. Everything was becoming clearer with every word and yet still she refused to accept it. “I would have organised this differently, been more presentable, or it be a more private affair. However, I also wanted you to hear my intentions from my own mouth before they reached you otherwise.” Issie would laugh if she weren't as shocked as a rabbit in a corner between two dogs.  _ More presentable _ ?

Her palms were slick where they were flush against wood, but impatience bit at her. The whirlwind of emotions she’d been riding since this morning hadn't eased, if anything they swirled in her with more ferocity. It was a complete and utter gamble what was going to come out of her mouth when she opened it. 

“Prince Even, do please get to the point,” she urged. It was an effort remembering to use his title, and a surprise that she sounded so calm. He smiled in amusement at her impatience, but before he could go on, her mother tutted at her back. Her father however sounded like he was trying to disguise a laugh as a cough. 

“ _ Issie _ ,” she exclaimed, her most impressive scandalized voice utilized. “You can't speak in such a way.” 

That was the thing that had Issie on her feet, the perfect chance to let her bubbling emotions steam off. Whirling around, she faced her parents, firming her jaw. She could and would speak in any way she wished when she was being kept in the dark. Did everyone know except her? 

“I can and I will mother. I have been subject to gossip and whispers all day, no one has explained to me what this is about, or why I am presented as I am,” she fumed, gesturing at her skirts. “I am not some prized beast, to be trotted out as and when it please everyone else, without any autonomy over its own existence. I have a right—” 

With each word she stated, her mother's eyes grew wider and her face paler, her father's  _ cough _ , on the other hand, seemed to worsen. But it wasn't the silent discomfiture her mother seemed to be suffering with that stilled her tongue, but the gentle fingers that came to rest on her elbow. So heated in her outburst, Issie hadn't noticed Even’s advance on her. 

She turned towards him, as though the gesture had been an order. But her chin tipped up in a final defiance as she faced him, because words abandoned her. She was scared, scared at what her heart was trying to persuade her to believe, and as much as she wanted it clear and instant, she was trying to stave off the moment of disappointment she thought surely should happen.

“You could have sent word to me,” she managed, breathless as she was at being so close to him in front of her parents and the members of household present. 

“I could have,” he agreed, “but I wanted to ask you as you stood in front of me.” 

Issie swallowed. “Ask what?” 

He licked his lips. “And you have every right of refusal—”

“She would not dare—” her mother cut in, before she herself was interrupted by the Duke.

“ _ Darling _ ,” he said in a firm voice. “let them be.”

Issie could imagine the scowl her father had earned, she could hear her mother sniffing indignantly, but the only thing she could see was Even, seemingly entertained by her parents back and forth. Issie would bet the King and Queen would never act in such a manner. But Even’s serious bent of mind returned as he focussed on her, gently he took one of her hands in his own. “Lady Isabella, would you be so generous as to accept me as your husband?” 

Issie had no words, her mouth was open but nothing would come. There were too many reasons why what she had just heard could not be reality. The only thing she could do was gently shake her head in denial, the curls that were free of the beautiful combs—which were apparently now hers—swayed with the motion. 

Even frowned. “Is that a no?”

Blinking, her mind raced to correct what must have looked like refusal to him. “No—I mean, no, it’s not a no. But how can you? We can’t, you’re the heir— the succession—”

The grip engulfing her hand firmed in comfort and his smile was soft and warm. “That won’t be a problem considering I am no longer the heir.” 

It was Issie’s turn to frown at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” The question rushed past her lips. 

“I was never the natural choice for the position, but protocol said otherwise. It had been playing on my mind for quite some time, but it was you that gave me the courage to speak up and put things to rights. I shall caretake the throne if it is necessary at any point, but Ylva is now in line—as it should have been. And my parents have bestowed their blessing on this proposal—not that that should sway your decision.” And there he stopped, looking at Issie with a patient expression. What could she say?

“And you have organised all this?” He nodded in response to her question. “Despite not knowing my answer?” Another nod was given, but this time he added a grin. Issie couldn’t stop herself from asking a question that formed from his answers. “And what would you do if I refuse?”

Even shrugged, but his contented expression didn’t cease. “I considered that on the ride. I would have to enquire about a vacancy for court bard at this great hold, that way I could still sing and recite loving words to you as you ate and drank—with no one the wiser.”

Her father was coughing again, and Issie was trying not to smile. “I think people are aware of that plan now,” she whispered conspiratorially to him. 

“It matters little, a life without my heart would hurt no less or more if I were King or the village idiot.” 

Chewing her lip, Issie tried to deny the blush she felt at those words being spoken so candidly. His presence, the news, and his words were all overwhelming. She felt a dolt stood here while everyone waited on her as her tongue failed to pick out words as eloquently as he had. He gave her hand another squeeze.

“You needn’t come to a decision yet, I can wait, or go away until—”

“Yes,” she stated over him. 

Even blinked. “Yes? You want me to go away, or…” But his countenance was relaxed, he already knew what she meant. He just wanted her to be clear.

She huffed before expanding on her decision. “I could not—in good conscience—allow you to take up the a position of court bard; by all accounts your singing voice is dreadful, and my fondness for you would never permit me to allow you endurement of such embarrassment.”  

He tried on an expression of feigned offence, but he was beaming at her. He looked as overcome as she felt, that in itself was reassuring.

“Isabella, you will give us—The Prince, I mean—a clear answer to his proposal,” her mother called from the dais. Less of a command and more of a plea, her nerves clearly becoming frayed by the exchange they all were witness to.    

Her father let out a sigh. “My dear, I think it’s clear—”

“I will marry you,” Issie carried on clearly. “I would be honoured to be your wife.”  

* * *

The evening breeze was wonderful up this high, Even decided. The view from the balcony that led into both adjoining chambers was equally delightful; he could see for miles over the surrounding countryside. Breakfasting together out here would be quite something, as well as twilit conversation—at least in the summer. He had been assured that, during the winter months, another grand suite would be assigned him and Issie in the lower and warmer parts of the hold. 

With a content sigh, Even turned his back on the setting sun and pushed aside the netted curtain to step into his new quarters here—or more accurately the quarters he shared with Issie. Issie whom was now, by the old customs at least, his wife. Even had not been entirely prepared for  _ that  _ development, but his Aunt and Uncle had insisted more suitable rooms were found for them—ones befitting a married couple. These rooms were much more spacious; they had their own bedchamber each with an interconnecting washroom—as was proper— _ and  _ a shared balcony. 

This had come with stipulations—mainly from the Duchess, but half heartedly backed up by the Duke—that if they shared rooms as husband and wife then they should at least be handfasted—to make it somewhat proper. The Duke had murmured something about  _ happy wife, happy life _ , and Even was sure that wasn’t entirely advice for just himself. The grander celebrations were being organised at home, that is where the more pompous ceremony would occur.

It was all a whirlwind. Firstly, the High Priestess Sana was summoned to coordinate the exchange of solemn oaths that bound Issie and himself together, whilst winding lengths of fabric, striped in their house colours, around their joined hands. Then the Duke and Duchess had hosted an  _ extended  _ lunch—everyone in the hold had attended, and it had lasted all the way through to dinner. It had been more than pleasant, everyone had been delighted to share this occasion with them. Even couldn’t help but feel Ylva would give him a very stern dressing down once she’d learned what she’d missed out on. 

But all Even had really wanted was some time spent alone with Issie, they really hadn’t had any privacy since their evening together—which seemed absurd since they were now married. But life was full of surprises. It was for that reason Even was secretly glad that Ylva was still in the capital, in preparation for her own celebrations, or she would have undoubtedly stolen Issie away from him. 

Issie had been gracious enough to grant him leave to refresh himself first, since he’d not had a chance to do so after his journey here. Now he’d bathed and wore fresh breeches and a loose blouse—the evening was too warm for anything else. It had then been her turn to use their shared washroom, and Even had tried to distract himself with the view because the sound of water splashing, while he knew Issie was on the other side of the thin wooden door in nothing but her skin, almost drove him to distraction. The noises had stilled now, so he assumed she was dressing for bed. 

Even hoped she would ask for him tonight, all he longed for was her company. But the day had been long, full of surprises—especially for her. He would understand if she needed her rest. Settling into a comfortably padded reading chair that sat next to a wide and cold hearth—books lined the mantelpiece in a room otherwise sparse of ornamentation but he would soon change that—a knock came at the entrance door.

“ _ Come _ ,” he called out.

In an instant, Magnus slipped into the room, closing the door at his back. “My Lord, we had a reply from the bird you sent earlier,” he said, striding over to where Even sprawled in his seat and handing him two small scrolls. 

“Two replies,” Even noted more than asked as he took them from Magnus, then nodded at the chair opposite him for his manservant to sit—which he did quite eagerly.

“Indeed. I would be very confident placing my bets on whom they are from,” Magnus replied, easing into the chair with a sigh. It had been a long day for all of them, especially Magnus, who’d not only set out on horseback with Even at the crack of dawn, but had assisted with bringing Issie’s things up here; he served them both now. They’d had to leave so early because that was the only point in the day they would escape without his niece noticing—and  _ then  _ ordering her own horse readied. 

Even hummed in agreement. He could easily guess their origin. Cracking the seal on the first, he unrolled it to find his father’s flowing script. His eyes flowed over the words quickly. 

“The King?” Magnus asked. 

Even nodded. “Sending the Royal  _ delight  _ to both husband and wife, son and daughter-in-law. He also goes on to say invoking old traditions is a wonderful idea that should be rectified. All in all, he seems happy… although he finishes off with  _ good luck _ . With what, I’m not entirely sure.” Even looked up at his serving man who was hiding a smirk behind his palm. “ _ What _ ?”

Magnus shook his head, trying on an expression that he might have thought was innocent. “Nothing— _ nothing _ .” Even was about to question him further but his manservant and friend pushed on. “And the other?”

“Right,” he muttered, cracking the seal on the second. It only took a few seconds to read what was written there, and very carelessly. His face split in a grin. 

“Ylva?”

Even grunted a laugh before reciting the message word for word. “ _ To my loyal _ —” he stopped to look up at Magnus and break the narration, “and that word is underlined, so I believe I can read it in the sarcastic tones she excels at.” Magnus grunted a laugh before Even returned to his niece’s letter. “ _ To my loyal subject, Prince Even. I am very disappointed in you. We shall talk further on your return. Send my love to my new Aunt—whom I should add you wouldn’t have found without me. Sternest Regards, The Heir Apparent _ .  _ P.S. Please bring Jonas back with you. _ ” 

“ _ Jonas _ ?” Magnus asked with a frown.

“Some poor cousin of my wife, he doesn’t know what’s in store for him.”

Magnus chuckled at that. “Indeed he does not…  and I  _ knew  _ it wouldn’t take long before she started using that title,” Magnus stated through his own mirth. 

“I had been counting down the hours myself. But she will make an excellent Queen… I just may not live long enough to see it,” Even snorted. Perhaps she would have mercy on him for this perceived infraction and simply banish Even instead. 

“You'd better had, I need someone to persuade her that  _ Fozzy _ is not an acceptable address to be yelling down the halls of the palace before Birk copies her.” 

Even placed the scrolls on the mantelpiece before relaxing against the high, padded back of his chair. “But that is rather sweet.” 

Magnus grunted his disagreement. “ _ Sweet,”  _ he muttered. 

“On a different note, you have done more than you should today. If you wish, you can return to the capital… and  _ relax _ until I return. You can tell father I've ordered you to take a holiday.” Even stretched out his feet, very much expecting the offer to be taken eagerly. But Magnus hesitated, drawing a frown from Even. 

“Actually, My Lord, I would prefer to stay by your side,” he answered lightly, looking far too relaxed. Magnus was loyal, but he wouldn't pass up a holiday. 

Even chewed his lip, trying to figure him out. It could only be one thing. “And which poor maid is it that has caught your eye?” 

Jaw dropping open, Magnus sputtered a retort. “There is no—I haven't had a chance to even—” 

A grin was spreading on Even’s face as his longest friend tried to hold up a very poor defence. But that defence was cut short by a soft knock at the door connecting Even’s bedchamber to the washroom. Magnus looked delighted at the intrusion. 

But that delight only lasted a blink of an eye when Even called out to summon whomever it was. The door creaked open, and no sooner had Vilde peered into the room to find out who Even had company with, then she averted her eyes. The pair were blushing furiously. 

“My Lord,” she began in that timid voice she possessed. “Your wife asks for your company.” 

And that doubled Even’s enjoyment of the moment instantly. But how could he interfere on behalf of Magnus? 

Standing, Even smoothed down his shirt. “And as a dutiful husband, I shall attend.” Magnus stood after him, his eyes dancing towards the heavier door that granted escape from this situation. “But Magnus,” he added, his manservant freezing mid stride. 

“My Lord?” 

“I was thinking, if I am to lure my wife to spend time in this room, it needs a woman's touch.” He divided his gaze between both Magnus and Vilde, who had begun to shuffle into the room. “Vilde would you do me the honour of picking out some furnishings, that aren't in use, that Your Lady might favour?” 

She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, of course, My Lord.” 

“And you shan't be alone, my man will help you on this mission. Have you met Magnus?” 

Her smile was timid but she stole a glance at the man in question’s direction. “Briefly, My Lord.” 

“ _ Wonderful _ ,” Even exclaimed, trying not to laugh at the spluttered noises coming from Magnus. “He's one of the finest men I know, so look after him,” he added, before making his way to the door Vilde had entered from. 

* * *

“So, you  _ maneuvered  _ them?” Issie’s voice came from behind a screen, and no matter how hard Even stared he couldn’t see through it. Every few seconds he could hear her moving. She’d asked him to sit and wait, so that was what he was doing. She had a similar set of armchairs to his by her hearth, and they were just as comfortable. 

Breaking his gaze from the beautifully carved wooden panels that formed the barrier between them, he began to scan the room. It was already much more homely than his chamber, despite not being full of many things, but perhaps that was just her presence. The painting in her old room was here, and the vase, lots of books were stacked in piles as if they were in the process of being set into a certain order in the many shelves. On the bedside cabinet was a small frame, and Even smiled when he saw what it held: the sketch he’d made for her along with the bloom he’d left—dried and pressed. Maybe he would make sure that, if he ever had to leave her side, he would leave a sketch.

“I just saw an opportunity for—” he shrugged. “It just looks like they like each other. I was merely assisting,” he added in defence of himself.

Her face poked around the screen shooting a sceptical look at him that seemed so familiar, Even wondered whether they might have known each other intimately for years. Or perhaps they were reincarnated souls, he couldn’t help but smile at that comfort. 

“Vilde is a really lovely soul, I hope your man is careful.”

Even donned the most sombre expression he could muster. “I would trust him with my life.”

Her eyes ran over him before she nodded. “Good. But you do realise if this ends in tears, we will both have to endure that? As they will be working quite closely.”

“The way Magnus was gawking at her just now, she could give him all of her daily chores and he wouldn’t complain.” 

She disappeared from view again and Even couldn’t help but sigh. What was she doing? “Men are terribly simple creatures,” she mused, he could hear the needling in her tone. 

“We are?” he said through a laugh. 

“Well—,” Issie broke from her intended sentence and Even heard more movement. “Close your eyes,” she commanded. 

“Close my eyes?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she replied firmly. Even imagined her chin tilting up with the word. 

He sighed with amusement. “OK.”

“Are they closed?”

“Yes,  _ My Lady. _ ” He could jibe right back. 

But his mirth in their conversation stilled when he heard her footsteps crossing the floorboards. She was barefoot, like Even.

“Well,” she continued from where she’d left off. “It only took one night for you to give up your claim to the throne. Correct?” There was pride in her voice which belonged there—Even was determined he would keep it that way. 

She was near him now, and the butterflies that had taken up residence in Even’s stomach swirled at her proximity. Despite not being able to see her, he could smell her perfume; sweet and light, and he could feel her in a way he couldn’t explain. 

“That is correct, but—,” he cut off with a sharp intake as her weight settled in his lap. Even switched from calm to eager in a matter of moments, Issie was probably aware of that fact. His mind began to imagine what she was wearing as the rustle of skirts was so clearly absent, and his hands desperately wanted to touch her. 

Issie wriggled in his lap getting comfortable as she straddled him, and it helped matters not one bit. “ _ But _ ?” she repeated. He could feel her smile, blind as he was right then. 

A staggered breath left him. “But, there is only one Princess Isabella, there is not one thing that can compare to the stupefying effect that this unique creature can inflict. I could be forgiven for giving up the entire world, just for one more kiss. But I’m not sure what the reasoning is for any other man becoming simple.”  

She snorted softly, but remained speechless for a long moment. Then her hands cradled his face and her lips met his gently. “I was right, you are a flatterer—and one of the highest order,” she murmured, lips brushing over his. 

“I think it’s a matter of perspective; for me it’s the simple truth.” And he meant it. Just as his fingers began to stroke at a thin layer of silk covering Issie’s thighs, he dared to open his eyes—despite not having been given permission.  

Her face filled his view, chewing her lip while she looked at him intently. She wore a short nightcoat: burgundy and gold. The tailor had done well, but Even’s mind was distracted by fancies of what was underneath. 

“You have a smooth tongue, husband—a  _ honeyed tongue _ … and I don't think I shall grow tired of it.” 

Even shook his head in disagreement. “ _ You _ are the honey.” 

Issie rolled her eyes, but there was delight in the huffed laugh she expelled. “Incorrigible,” she murmured once her gaze settled on him again. 

“But my tongue can be as smooth as you wish it to be, wherever you require it to be.” He delivered the words with one cocked eyebrow, grinning when she flushed that becoming shade that was natural to her. 

“It may not be as busy as the last time,” she stated, edging closer until she pushed the tip of her nose against his. 

“No?” He asked and Issie shook her head. 

“Unless your tongue intends to be vocally appreciative,” she added with a smirk of her own. 

Even licked his lip, trying to guess at what she might be alluding to. “What do you have in mind?” 

Issie blinked in confusion. “Did we not just wed?” 

“Well, yes—” 

Issie spoke over him. “Then I expect you to consummate it.” She firmed her jaw in that manner he was becoming accustomed to; it said that she dared he try and argue with her. 

But his fingers were stroking through Issie's hair. This was all new to him. “I'll go wherever you lead,” he said quietly. “But I don't really know—” 

Issie cut him off with a firm kiss, the taste of her was as sweet as the perfume on her skin. She pulled back from his mouth, somehow procuring a small vial from a fold in the night coat. “I do,” she whispered. “Although I'm used to… much smaller  _ tools _ .” The statement was added with a light and nervous laugh before drumming her fingers against Even’s chest, emphasising what she meant with a pointed glance at them. 

His jaw dropped. “You've done that?” 

Issie nodded, looking somewhat smug. “You'd be amazed by some of the magic I'm capable of.” 

And he couldn't argue there. He was amazed by her generally, but the thoughts in his mind now made him feel lecherous. Somehow, his mouth didn't receive the message that those notions were probably best kept to himself. “Maybe you could show me some of this magic.” 

“ _ Perhaps _ ,” she mused coyly. “But today you're going to be participating.” 

“Just show me how,” Even managed to stammer out, right before Issie claimed his mouth with hers. Then she shifted forward, further into his lap, and Even couldn't repress a groan as she moved over him.

Before he realised what he was doing, Even’s fingers were pulling at the flimsy belt around her waist. When it was free, Even’s hands slipped inside the material just as Issie began unbuttoning his shirt. Her palms were hot on his chest, but Even wasn't focussed on  _ that  _ because his sense of touch was running wild. 

Breaking away from her, Even sat back to take her in. The silk of the night coat slipped down her arms, and there she sat in a sheer and lacy undergarment. It was a deep purple, the straps that went over her shoulder look so delicate they might snap if handled too roughly—Even tried to remember that observation. The material was ruched around her hips as she sat on him, and he could see there was nothing else beneath. The material was tight against her form and Even had a perfect view of Issie in her entirety, from her small and perfect nipples, to where she lay hard already.  

“Is it OK?” her voice cut through his gawking and his eyes snapped up from his intense study of Issie's body to her face. 

“ _ OK?”  _ Even asked incredulously. “You're incredible.” Hands on her waist, he tugged her forward and she dipped her head, finding his mouth again. He had no more words, she had this tendency to leave him mute of thoughts, except for the need to touch her, love her, listen to her…  

The kisses were deep and desperate, Issie's hips began to rock against him and her teeth pulled at Even’s lips when the pressure began to build. When she let out a soft groan, Even got the distinct impression that her patience had worn thin. Her actions proved him right when her fingertips traced down his stomach to begin undoing the buttons on his breeches. 

“Should I take them off?” he panted against her neck. 

Issie shook her head. “I just need you like this,” she said firmly as the last button was seen to and she released him from beneath the fabric. Suddenly the vial was in hand, and she poured some of the contents into her palm before returning her attention to Even. 

Dropping his head back against the chair, Even gasped as she found him, her palm moving slowly and precisely over him—whatever was in the vial made the motion smooth and slippery. His hands pushed under the lace of her garment, gripping the firm muscles of her backside and pulling her harder against him. Issie moaned when he did, then her lips were against his, off target kisses wetting chin and cheek. 

Their motions became feverous, her hand was an expert on his body, just like he remembered. But now thoughts of being inside her teased at him. He fumbled for the vial, tipping perhaps too much into his hand before be replaced the stopper. Dropping it in the chair, his hands worked back to where they'd been, gliding over her skin and following the curves of her body. 

It didn't take long before Issie was panting against his mouth, his fingertips were ghosting over the most intimate part of her body. 

“Even,  _ please _ . I need you,” she managed, voice shaky. 

He couldn't answer with words because they'd evaporated in the heat they made together. Instead he nuzzled against her neck as she gasped for air, pushing gently against her. And Issie moved naturally, curving her spine and pushing back, admitting him into her body. 

Even ebbed into her, and she rocked in time to how he moved, her palm never ceasing it's caress. Soon, they found themselves in abandon of any inhibitions, bodies writhing and moving as one. It was obvious to Even that Issie was losing herself to pleasure like this, the exhilaration mounting as she took more of him. And he knew what he wanted to do, he could almost feel it already. 

“ _ You _ —I need you,” her words were an impatient wail. 

And he would give her whatever she wanted. “Issie, you have me, all of me,” he moaned against her throat. She was shifting forward again, lifting herself, and Even slipped lower in the seat. This might not be the most practical place for what they had embarked on, but there was no place for logic in frantic, desperate love. 

His hands retreated, moving back over her smooth backside, coming to rest on Issie's hips. She guided him then, to where he was needed. The only thing Even could do was press wet kisses to whatever portion of Issie's skin was beneath his mouth, damp with a sheen of sweat, like he was. 

Issie rolled her hips over him, before her muscles seemed to firm in her core, determined about what she was doing. Then her weight was on him, slowly and inexorably advancing on him. It was almost too much, too constricted, but bliss flooded through Even as he felt her encompass him—in every sense. 

He was overwhelmed by Issie; he could taste her and smell her, his hands held her as she sat atop him, her body covered his and he was inside of her. And now she was invoking his name as she took more of him. 

There was a moment of calm in the midst of the storm, and she pressed her forehead to his, their bodies flush now. Even was grateful for the respite because every small motion threatened to put an end to this far too quickly for his appetite. 

“Are you OK?” he asked on an unsteady breath. 

Issie nodded. “ _ OK?” _ she repeated with a small huff of disbelief. “You're incredible.” 

Frustration rolled over Even as she repeated his words back to him, because he didn't possess the mind power to fully articulate his love and desire for her, and all his instincts told him to take control, to roll on top of Issie and make love to her, leave her completely undone. But that could wait, they were not short on passion or energy. 

Instead, Even pushed down the lace of her garment, knowing how wonderfully she reacted to his mouth on her chest. He kissed over her skin and her fingers gripped to Even’s hair as she groaned. His tongue found her nipple and Issie shivered, making her body roll slowly so Even was moved deep inside of her. That only encouraged him further, and the hands on her hips began to guide Issie, rocking back and forth in his lap. 

They found a rhythm, slow and deliberate, it was all Even needed. The tension in him had coiled too tightly, there was no way he would last much longer, not now that Issie's nails were raking across shoulders. 

Even looked up to her and groaned when he did. Issie looked lost, her eyes darkened, her mouth open on the wordless moans flowing endlessly from her throat. There was nothing as beautiful as her, and Even would tell Issie exactly that when he was able to verbalize the sentiment. But right now the urgency of pleasure came first—hers before his.

“Issie, can I?” he asked hurriedly, his finger tip tracing around her hardness through the lace. She was already leaking. 

“ _ Yes,”  _ she whispered emphatically.  

Wasting no time, his hand pushed beneath the material, palm gliding over her length, pressing gently to her while his thumb began to rub back and forth where the sensitivity was at its highest. The wetness eased the way his skin glided over hers, and his other hand remained on her hip guiding the increasingly stuttered motion. 

By the way she whimpered in response, Even knew to kept up his attention, making sure his touch wasn't too hard or fast. 

“I'm close,” she said, her voice urgent but low. Which that encouragement, his mouth was on her again: throat, chest, nipple—anything he could find. Then his name was ripped from Issie, filling the room, as her body became tense before her muscles shook uncontrollably. He looked down in time to see her release against the lace, watching as it seeped through. 

Even called her name, not knowing he'd said it until it was in his ears, because it was all too much. Watching her overcome with desires, and how her body seemed to cling to him, his own orgasm crashed down on him in a wave, searing white heat blinding and stultifying him.  

Low noises of satisfaction filled the room, as the high sea became tempered. Her heart was hammering against her chest like his. But he found her mouth waiting for him as he looked for her, Even needed her kisses not air. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and his snaked around her waist bringing her close. Even was sure that, before he'd met her, he’d never truly been alive.

“I think,” she whispered hoarsely against his mouth when she pulled back to breathe. “I think we should do that every day.” 

Even couldn't help but grin. “It would probably count as daily exercise. I hear that is supposed to be good for you.” 

Her huffed laugh cooled his skin. “And I took an oath to care for your health, husband, so I really have no other choice…” Issie trailed off, smiling her beautiful smile. 

“Being married to you will certainly be a hardship,” he sighed, feigning defeat.  

“Fear not, I shall always strive to make you  _ proud _ ,” she smirked. 

Even pushed a kiss to her lips, rosy from their over use. “You don't have to try awfully hard to do that.” It was the simple truth. Everything about Issie appealed to him. 

She looked pleased at his words, and perhaps eager for whatever energy they might find to use up before they were both in need of sleep. “I had Vilde fill the tub again before you sent her on to her  _ destiny _ . Would you like to accompany me?” she asked. 

His fingers were toying with her curls, more had strayed from the pretty combs she was wearing. “I will accompany you anywhere, wife.” 

Issie arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

“It's my duty— _ you _ are my duty.” 

Duty, family, purpose; Issie had instantly completed his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride! 
> 
> Thank you to Wendy and Charlotte, my eyes when I was melting of anxiety <3


End file.
